Hidden in plain sight
by Herofire
Summary: Bumblebee flies strong, and a White Rose sprouts, even as the world tries to tear them apart.
1. Blake-1

**So this is what happens when I have writers block, and then binge read romance stories.**

 **Huh.**

 **No idea how quickly updates will come for this.**

* * *

 **Blake**

I listen to the song of the birds around me, each singing their own tune, all different, but equal. The sun shines on my skin, warming me down to my bones. I pull on the sleeve of my shirt, wishing somewhat that I had worn something thinner. No clouds mar the brilliant blue sky, allowing me to appreciate it in all its splendor. Bright, luscious grass tickles my feet, poking in through the cracks in my sandals. I take in a deep breath, enjoying the feeling of cool spring air, rushing into my throat. A brilliant blue lake sits in front of me, stretching as far as I can see. A small stream feeds into it, bubbling water through rocks and twigs. A bench provides me a welcome spot to sit down, and I take the chance to look around the clearing. Trees flank the sides, with the only pathway in behind me, covered by a thin layer of tree branches.

I check the time on my watch, and frown. They should be here by now; it's almost seven. Soon it'll be time for school, and we won't get a chance to do this until tomorrow. I lower my arm and start to pace, frightening thoughts clouding my head. What if there was an accident? Should I be calling the local hospitals, asking if anyone's in surgery, or worse? My arms are across my chest, and I send nervous glances towards the small path leading in.

I'm so focused on it, that I don't notice the noises behind me until my vision goes black. Over my eyes, I can feel warm flesh, roughened by many years of sports.

A body pushes against my own, and my "attacker" speaks in a familiar teasing voice. "Guess who?"

I turn myself around, removing the impromptu blindness from my eyes. I'm greeted by two purple eyes, shining with mischief and joy. Bright, yellow locks fall down, brushing against my nose. She smiles, showing every single brilliantly white teeth she owns. "Hey."

My lips curve upwards, and I feel my heart speed up to nearly impossible levels. Slowly, savoring every sight, every smell, every sound as I do so, I lift my hands up to her shoulders, and set them down, gently. "Hey."

Her grin, if it's possible, grows even wider, showing even more of her teeth, and now a bit of her gums. Warm milk and chilled water runs through my veins, and it's all I can do to keep myself standing. Her arms thread around my waist, and I feel her fingers dig into my back. Suddenly, she pulls me in, my feet nearly tripping over themselves, and she lowers her lips to mine.

Sweet, sweet strawberry flows from her, filling my mouth with her wonderful flavour. Lilac shampoo, mixed with the scent of sweat and my perfume mix together, forming something that I can only describe as _us._ Our lips pull apart, gasping for air, only to mash themselves together again. The air feels warm and wonderful against my skin, and for that brief moment, I think that nothing could make this moment better.

Then I feel her hands drift downwards, and suddenly I'm no longer so sure.

* * *

"I think that one's a dog."

"No, that's a cat," I insist, turning my neck to look at my girlfriend. We're lying side by side on a blanket Yang had the foresight to bring, hidden from sight by a rather large collection of bushes. Small piles of our clothing, minus my shirt and her bra, are bunched up at our feet, hastily removed earlier, and neither of us had the care to put them back on.

Yang giggles, and brushes her hand over my breast and down to my stomach. "You always think it's a cat." Her other arm worms under my back, and with a quiet yelp, I'm on top of her. Her arms wrap around my middle, and she nuzzles her head into my neck. I close my eyes and sigh happily, perfectly content in her grip.

"So… last year…" Yang whispers into my ear, her breath tickling my skin. "You planning on sticking around?"

I nod. "I need to actually graduate to get into university, you know."

Yang purrs, and it's all I can do to keep myself from flipping over and kissing her again. "Oh, I know." Even though I'm turned away, I know perfectly what kind of mischievous look she has on her face. "Guess not everyone has spotters _begging_ them to joint their teams."

I lightly slap her arm, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to get her attention. "Stop it," I rebuke, rolling my eyes. "I swear, one of these days you won't be able to fit that head into that helmet you love so much."

She gasps in mock distress. "Oh, well that won't do, will it?" Her lips meet the length of my neck, soft and sensual, sending my pulse into its own private dance party. "Guess I'll have to get my favorite little vacuum and suck it all away…"

My eyes roll again, but I turn myself over and kiss her again, hard and long. I feel her arms running down my side, and it's a struggle to pull away. "There," I whisper. "All better."

Yang laughs, and pulls me down, lying me right next to her. Her arm is snaked around my neck and onto my shoulder, and she cranes her neck so she can bury her nose in my hair.

"Have you figured out which one you want to go to?" Yang asks, her voice a steady rumble in her chest. I bite my lip and turn away. A gentle touch brushes down my arm. "Hey, it's okay. I'm not trying to pressure you."

"I know," I say, and I mean it. A smirk comes to my lips; Yang could never pressure me anyways. "I'm just…" I press my forehead against her arm, bathing in her warmth. "I like it here; I really, really do…"

"—But Beacon doesn't have a great English program." She grabs my head and places a kiss on my hair. "I get it."

I smile, and turn my head so I can look at the sky, resting it on her arm. A big, fluffy cloud blots out the sun, turning our private spot dark and cool. I shuffle closer to Yang, seeking the warmth she pumps out.

"You already have it all planned out," I say quietly. "You've got a scholarship at Beacon, something to study, maybe even a job."

Her finger traces down the side of my head, ending at the base of my neck. She plants a quick kiss to my hair and grins.

"And I'd give it all up for you," she says, and I know she means every word. I twist myself around, capturing her lips with my own, holding her down until my lungs are screaming for fresh air.

We pull apart, and set ourselves so that we're laying side by side, staring at each other, the clouds above forgotten. I entwine my fingers with her own, and stare into her deep purple eyes. Slowly, my gaze follows the curves of her well-trained body, the bruises, the tone of her stomach, and the rippling of muscles under my hand.

"You shouldn't have to," I whisper, and Yang's gaze turns dark. I know I've broken one of the fundamental rules of our meetings out here, but it's something I need to talk to her about. "I don't want to… to _ruin_ your life, not over me."

She brings our hands up, and kisses my knuckles. "How could you ruin anything?"

I shut my eyes, tears falling out of the corners. "No one will let you compete if… if they know about us. I don't… I don't want to cost you your dream."

She smiles, shining those flawless teeth so brightly I can't help but grin along with her. Her hands drift from in-between us and to my head, slowly bringing the two of us closer. Our foreheads meet, and she starts brushing the hair along the side of my head, gazing into my eyes like there's nothing else in the world.

"You are my dream."


	2. Yang-1

Yang

I gun the motor of Bumblebee, weaving through the busy streets. Pidgeons coo and flap around, dropping their specialty everywhere they went. Cars honk, a few drivers bring up the good old-fashioned double bird. I send back a brief, hidden grin, and then drive off. Maybe some nights I'd get pissed, but it's been too great of a day to care. Wrapped tightly around my waist are two of my favorite arms, holding on with a death grip as I twist and turn. Pressed against my back is my _favorite_ face, and even through the leather jacket I'm wearing, I can still feel her smile. _Feel it._

Yeah, I've got it bad.

Shut up.

I know this route by heart, so I'm able to shut my brain off. Blake shifts behind me, trying to get a better grip. I spare a quick glance back at my girlfriend, earning a brief smile, and two fingers pointed towards the road. I laugh, and turn around, the brief look enough to make me feel like a love-struck fifteen-year-old all over again. I know I have a stupid grin on me the rest of the trip, but I really don't care. That's what the helmet is for.

We zip past and through several streets, each with their own charm. Brightly lit stores advertise dozens of wares, each crying out for your hard-earned paycheck. Shoppers trudge along, carrying giant piles of going-away presents and furniture. I can't tell how many places advertise grad photos or college application assistance. Guess that's what it's like when graduation's less than a month away. Blake continues her grip of death on me, getting even tighter as I pick up speed. Not that I mind.

Sadly, all good things must end, and we pull up to Blake's house. It's a small thing, two flat stories, a poster stamp of a yard, but well-maintained, at least from the outside. I wish I could say more, but I've never been inside it. Two years we've been dating and I've never seen the inside of her house.

Blake swings her legs off the bike, hopping to the ground. She runs a hand through her hair, sweeping out the dirt and removing the wind-swept look. I hand her bag over. "Thanks for the, eh, 'studying'," I say, brushing my fingers over her hand as she grabs it. Two scared amber eyes dart towards the house, looking for any unseen observer.

I realise my mistake, and immediately pull my hand back. "I'm—I'm sorry, I wasn't—I'm—"

She turns around, and shakes her head. "Forget it. Just… don't do it again." She lets out a breath, and I find my own chest mirroring her action. Our eyes meet, sparkling in the setting sun, before she turns around and sets off.

I raise a hand. "Bye Blake! See you tomorrow!"

She whips her head around, and shows me a rare grin, all her teeth showing between her lips. An invisible hand clenches my chest, and holds tight until she turns around and enters her house.

I let out a quiet sigh, and throw on my helmet. Gunning the engine, I make the much shorter commute to my house, driving past two streets of progressively better houses until I reach my own. It's nothing special, two stories, small basement, blue siding on the exterior walls. A window shows me our living room, with a small T.V. set on the floor. I can see my little sis and her friend sitting on the couch, game controllers in hand, while my Mom cooks in the kitchen.

A shock of blonde hair suddenly peeps over the counter top, holding a tray of bread. A grin comes onto my face that, for once, has nothing to do with Blake. Dad's home, a rare occasion, and I'm actually looking forward to talking with him.

I roll my bike into the garage, taking care not to kick anything over. Big piles of random metal and wood litter the floor, with gun parts and tools coating a few tables and shelves. Mom, Dad, and Ruby all use this place for storage and for building stuff, from Dad's collection of guns, to Mom's carpentry, and Ruby's… everything.

Seriously, _everything._

I set Bumblebee in about the only spot _not_ covered in parts and step out of the garage. The air's cool now, and vaguely moist. If we don't get rain tonight, we will in the morning. The trees seem to know this, reaching out into the sky with deep green leaves. The sun's gone now, handing over the sky to the stars. The only competition they have is a new moon, barely visible against the inky blackness. I take in a deep breath, letting the cool air fill my lungs. I stand there for a minute, before I go inside, just enjoying the peace.

When I do enter my house, it's straight into the living room. I kick my shoes off and open the closest, straining against the sliding door. It's an old piece of crap, so I have to actually yank it open. I'm always worried I'll break it. Ruby and Jaune are still staring at the screen, fingers flying over controllers. I raise a hand.

"Hey guys," I say, closing the closet. Ruby waves, but her head remains focused on what's in front of her. Jaune glances towards me, but I can see the strain in his forehead and arms, and smirk. Ruby's a good gamer. Jaune… not so much. Still, he does seem to get lucky enough that it doesn't always matter.

"Hey Yang!" Dad calls, making me turn my head to look at him. He's ripping off two oven mitts from his hands, and there's a loaf of bread in front of him, a knife stuck into the crust. Shooting me a wave, he asks, "Had a good time with Blake?"

I walk into the kitchen and open the fridge, pulling out a jug of purple juice out and pouring it into a cup. "Oh yeah, had a great time." A _really_ great time.

He grins. "That's good." His head turns, and he resumes cutting the bread. "It's lasagna and garlic bread tonight."

"So ten minutes? Five?" He nods. "Perfect. I'll go get ready." I drain the glass in a single swallow and head to the bathroom. On the way, I pass by Ruby holding her hands up in some kind of victory dance, while Jaune stares blankly at the screen.

"Hah!" Ruby yells, zipping over to her friend's side. "Thought you said tonight is the night you'd beat me?"

Jaune snorts, and pushes her away. "Please, I'd need, like, a thousand lives to beat you."

Ruby's grin is… not modest, in any way. "You're not wrong."

I walk up to her and run a hand through her hair, ruffling it in all directions. I lean down so that I'm near eye level with her. "Yeah, but you'll never beat me!"

Ruby turns, a look of sheer indignation on her face. "Hey! I _totally_ will!"

I point towards the screen. "Then why is your guy about to die?"

Ruby'ss eyes grow to stop sign size, and she turns around so quickly I'm pretty sure _I_ just got whiplash. Her hands are on her controller again, desperately trying to save her character. I snort, and head upstairs, towards the washroom. Jaune gets up just as I leave.

"Well, I've gotta get moving," he says, causing Ruby to look at him with her famous puppy-dog pout. He puts up his hands, either to make a point, or to provide a barrier. "Sorry, I promised my mom I'd be back by now."

Ruby looks down, and leans over to the game console, shutting it off. "Okay…"

He smiles, and walks to the door, throwing on his shoes as he leaves. "Bye Ruby!" he shouts, and then he's gone. Ruby sighs, and falls back on the couch, blowing hair off her forehead and forming some brown-reddish frill. I stifle a laugh, then bound up the stairs, leaving Rubysaurus to pout.

It's good to be home.

I just wish my angel was here too.

* * *

Dinners a predictably loud affair. Lasagna volcanoes are piled high on everyone's plate, red-hot sauce cascading down their sides and threatening to capsize the garlic toast ships floating in the turbulent sea. I've cut my pile down to a manageable size, but Dad and Ruby have barely touched theirs, instead talking animatedly about his new project. I followed maybe a… sixth of it. Mom's watching them with some kind of resigned amusement, picking away at her own food.

Her eyes slip from Dad after he starts in on the ammo mod he's trying out, and land squarely on me. A gentle smile grows on her lips, and she swallows a mouthful of her cooking.

"So, Yang," she begins, in the tone of voice that reminds me far too much of a teacher. "How's your studying been?"

"Yeah, your 'studying'," Ruby says, winking at me. I roll my eyes, and then kick her under the table. She jumps, and her fork falls to her plate, splattering tomato sauce across her shirt.

One look down later and she's glaring at me with the heat of a thousand suns. I smile sweetly, and then turn to Mom without missing a beat.

"It's going great," I say, and despite the… _activities_ me and Blake get up to, it's completely honest. I have been studying, often with the help of the most wonderful black-haired girl on the planet, and I know I'm ready.

Mom smiles, and gently rests a hand on my shoulder. "I'm glad to hear that." She shakes her head, and shoots a look at Dad. "You've got a wonderful opportunity, and I'd hate to see you _waste_ it."

Dad's Momdar chose that moment to kick back in, and despite his complete removal from the conversation, he knows exactly what she's been talking about. (Like father, like daughter) He spreads his arms out, forgetting about the noodle attached to his fork. (Splat) "Hey, you trying to say something bad about the military life?"

Mom's face turns redder than her tomato sauce, and she coughs violently, like Dad had stuffed a tornado down her throat. "Um, Ruby," she says, her voice notably higher pitched than usual. I stifle a laugh. "How has your, um, study time went?"

Ruby, lovably oblivious as always, swallows down another noodle. "Oh, you know, fine."

Whatever embarrassment Mom was suffering disappeared, and her face shifted into Mom look #97, (You better listen to me, young woman) "Ruby, you _have_ been studying, correct?"

Ruby quickly averts her eyes, staring down at the plate below her.

Mom lets out a sigh. "Ruby, we've talked about this…"

"But it's so _boring!"_ Ruby cries, smashing a hand into the table. "All this crap about clauses and commas and smileys, nobody cares!"

Blake would _kill_ her for that comment, and I'm struggling to hold in my laughter. And failing. Miserably.

Mom lets out a long suffering sigh, cupping her head with her arms. "Tai, would you please talk some sense into your daughter?"

Dad sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. "Well, Summer, we both know that English was never my strong suit."

"But you passed!"

He snorts. "Only because you and Qrow spent thirty hours a day helping me with it." A thoughtful look takes over his expression. "By the way, have I thanked you for that today?"

Another wave of red washes through Mom's face, reaching up to the tips of her ears. She looks down, groaning, and I can't help but snicker. "Just three hours Tai, three long, long, hours..."

Ruby swallows a mouthful of cheese. "Three hours until what?"

"NOTHING!" Mom and Dad chorus, their whole bodies swiveling in their chairs to face her. I bend over, hand on my leg, laughing hard and long, gasping breathes of air overtaking the snorts until I can barely breathe.

"Anyways!" Mom says, trying to regain control of the conversation. "You need to get your English mark up if you want to pass."

"I know," Ruby says, setting her fork down. Her eyes turn dark and gloomy, and I'm sure everyone in the room feels the urge to snuggle/tickle her until they shine silver once more. "It's just… so _hard._ I don't understand it."

The tone of the dinner had shifted towards a zone I wasn't really comfortable with. Ruby's struggles with English was a constant issue in the household, one that I had heard Mom and Dad argue about late into the night. Nothing else cut down my post-Blake euphoria quite as efficiently. I excuse myself from the table, and start collecting dishes to put in the dishwasher. No one objects.

Mom lays a hand on top of Ruby's own, and gives her a soft squeeze. "Maybe we should look for a tutor. I know Blake's busy with Yang—"

"That's one way of putting it."

"—But maybe you can find someone else?" she finishes. Her eyes search out Ruby's silver, matching her trepidation with gentle encouragement.

Ruby looks away, running a hand through her hair. "I… I don't know, Mom, I mean…"

"Please, Ruby?" Mom lifts her hand, and in her expression is the best pleading look I've seen outside of Ruby's famous puppy dog eyes. Against such an onslaught, even Batman would be hard pressed to say no.

And Ruby folds far easier than Batman.

"Fine," she agrees. "I'll take a look at school, see if anyone's willing. Alright?"

Mom smiles, and grabs Ruby's shoulders. "That's all I ask." Then, with a timing so perfectly executed I'm sure she planned this, the oven goes off. Mom rises out of her chair, grabbing two oven mitts from the counter as she goes. With a practiced motion born out of many, many Ruby-fueled baking binges, she opens the oven and pulls out a sheet of mouth-watering tan and brown blobs.

Ruby's sheer emotional U-turn is startling, and not for the first time I wonder if Mom puts happy pills in her cooking. "Cookies!" A speed that's made her the star of the track team allows her to grab five before Mom reminds her to clear her plate. A task that's accomplished more expediently by dumping it down the garburator and dumping the plate in my hands.

With Ruby now sated with sugary goodness, my thoughts turn towards tomorrow. She's going to have a tutor, someone who will inevitably wind up at this house, spending time around my little sis.

Can't help but wonder how that'll turn out.


	3. Ruby-1

RUBY

I stand in the midst of the early morning, coffee deprived sea, the tide jostling me like a pinball. Students laugh and chatter, talking to each other, discussing plans for the summer, or just hanging out before classes begin again. Harsh white florescent light floods the hallway, turning the tan floors into some twisted funhouse mirror, robbing any who enter of their colour, leaving behind only pale shadows.

I squeeze my way through the waves, dodging wayward elbows and crashing bodies, until I find myself at a large cork board, dotted with islands of white paper and black text. My eyes fall from posters adorned with dancing bodies and price tags to the much simpler texts advertising lost objects and, most importantly, tutors. The list is short, only a few names I recognise, let alone know who they belong to.

Blake's on here, unsurprisingly, but trying to study with her would mean trying to study with Yang. In the same room as Blake. For hours on end. With no parents.

The other names are almost entirely math and science, which are the two subjects I don't need help with. I could probably teach that class, let alone tutor someone in them. Still, there's no other names with, "Language Arts," listed next to them, so this whole idea's a bust.

A shrill, horrid sound straight from the depths of our teacher's sadistic minds rings out of the speakers in the ceiling. The entire student body gives a giant, collective groan, but I grin like a madwoman. I know exactly what my first class is, and it sure isn't L.A!

* * *

I take a seat within a small, well-worn desk, dumping my books in the space beneath my chair. The cold plastic surface bites into my back, along with the poorly attached bolts, and I shift a few times, trying to get my body comfortable. Other students filter in around me, slumping down in chairs and trying to dredge up enough energy to pull this class off. A few give me glares as they walk by, mostly at my eager smile as I await the beginning of class. My smile shifts to a smirk. If they didn't want to be sleepy, they probably should have slept more.

Miss Goodwitch stomps in through the front door, a giant pile of paper in her right hand. Judging eyes take in the scruffy appearance of the class, and she lets out a sigh. "Good morning class."

No one answers.

She starts walking down the rows, placing a single sheet of paper on each desk. "As I am sure you are aware, today is your unit final." The class lets out a groan. "Please show all of your work, and do _not,"_ she says, glaring at Cardin at his cronies near the back of the room. "Talk to your neighbor. Am I understood?"

"Yes Miss Goodwitch," everyone choruses, although I'm pretty sure Cardin added a "b" somewhere.

A pearly white sheet of paper lands on my desk, its brilliant surface unmarred by any pencil smudges or poorly placed ink. The only thing on it are quick lines of text and numbers, mixed with the rare diagram. I do nothing, except pulling out a thin, orange pencil from my book pile, and setting it down gently on the surface of my paper, taking care to keep it flawlessly clean and perfect.

One must respect the paper.

I hear the other students pull out calculators, and although I doubt I'll need one, I set mine down on my desk as well. Rarely Miss Goodwitch will ask us to do some kind of crazy trig-algebra-calculus thing, (don't ask) and even I struggle to keep all the numbers where they're supposed to be.

Several long seconds later, Miss Goodwitch returns to the front of the room, and sits down in her chair. She pulls out another pile of paper from her desk, this one marred by pens and pencils, and looks at the clock. "Begin."

Furious scribbling fills the room, along with the clickty-clacking of fingers on plastic buttons. I set in on my page with a calm, measured response, answering the first question with neat, clean writing. (As clean as mud) The next fall's just as easily, as does the next. Soon I'm on the second page, my calculator still sitting upon the wooden surface of my desk, drops of dusk collecting in its ducts. I pat it, gently, on its screen.

Time passes in some jubilant daze. One minute my pencil is a razor point, carving runes as I work, the next it's some soft feather, gently coaxing the answers from the questions. I lift my head up, staring at the clock, and discover that, somehow, most of the class had passed. My math is done, bringing a soft pang of sadness as I stare at the black lines marring the pristine white surface. I set my pencil down on my desk, and relax in my chair.

Normally, once I'm done a test or the like, I'll pull out a pad of paper and start drawing up a new design, or pull out a magazine or something. Today, however, neither of those are an option. My supply of paper was depleted, and my magazines were… somewhere. Dad says he has no idea where they are.

So today, all I can do is sit back and stare at the clock. The minute hand leers at me, crawling along its path, taunting me with the next ten or fifteen minutes of class remaining. I groan, and set my head down on the desk. Shoot me now…

"Ugh, come one!" I hear someone hiss from behind me.

My head shoots up, and I spin around, finger poised on my lip to deliver a harsh scolding. "Shhhuhhhhh…" I trail off, my eyelids straining at their bounds, my vision proving inadequate for this event.

Sitting behind me, pencil in her mouth, hand smudged with black dust, is a girl. Although such a word is horribly insufficient. She's looking down, showing me the top of her diamond white hair, cascading to the side in a long ponytail.

Slowly, she lifts her head to face me, brilliant diamond locks falling upon her forehead and her neck. My eyes follow the strands, until I'm looking at her shining white dress, hugging her sides until her waist, at which point it becomes a fluffy cloud, ending at her knees. Her two glowing blue eyes meet my own, sending a spark through my skin and down to my heart. I swallow, my mouth suddenly turning into dry ice.

Her eyes narrow. "What?"

I squeak, and whip myself around, staring straight ahead. Warmth floods my skin, and I raise a hand to scratch at my neck, my shirt suddenly feeling far too warm. I can still feel her eyes needling my neck, until she lets out a harsh sigh. I risk a glance backwards, and see her focused once again on her math. The final question, to be specific. I thought it was pretty easy, but clearly, it wasn't, as she hasn't made any progress on it. My eyes drift to the clock once again, and the minute left until the end of class. (What happened to the other nine minutes?)

I glance at Miss Goodwitch, still absorbed by her own marking. My teeth dig into my lips, and I turn my gaze back to the girl, still completely absorbed in that question. Her pencil was slowly being strangled by her hands, the paper weathered away by the sweat on her hand.

Slowly, I lean forward, until I can hear her soft breathing. "X is forty-two point five seven."

Her head shoots up, staring me straight in the eyes. Her breath caresses my lips, gently invading my mouth. Minty. "What?" she says again.

"The answer," I say, my eyes refusing to move from her gaze, even as my skin feels like it's being roasted alive. "X is—"

"I heard you!" she hisses. "We're not supposed to be talking, you dunce! Are you trying to get us both in trouble?"

I shrink back from her furious gaze, yet I still cannot break eye contact with her. Even now, filled with anger, her eyes lock me in. "N-no, I just…"

Miss Goodwitch sets her papers down and gets up, her chair squealing as she pushes it in. I whip around, staring straight forward, praying to every god I know that she did not see me.

She starts walking down the rows, picking up each test as she passes by. "The test is now over. Please make sure your name is on the front page," she says, and I hear the girl let out a quiet squeak behind me, followed by furious scratching. I hear the noise stop, almost like she's hesitating, and then it resumes.

Miss Goodwitch doesn't look at me as she picks up my sheet, but her footsteps stop when she reaches the girl behind me. I wish desperately to turn around, but I fear those blue eyes will have discovered some method to shoot lasers.

Seconds later, the bell rings, and students flood out of the class room. The white-haired girl barely shoots me a glance as she gathers up her stuff and leaves.

I'm a few seconds behind her—my shoelace came undone during the test—but by the time I reach the hallway, she's gone. I crane my head as high as it can go, (not very) but my eyes never find a single white hair.

I don't even know her name.


	4. Weiss-1

**Weiss**

I don't manage to get to Miss Goodwitch's classroom until after the day ends. Inside my mind is a whirling storm as I trudge down the vacant hallways, my feet thundering with every step. The rare light flickers like dying breaths, futilely attempting to hold on to life, even as its brethren fall to the darkness. Cold air brushes against my bare legs, goosebumps rising in retaliation.

Finally, I come to the classroom. My hand rises towards the pale wooden door, but moments before impact I find that I cannot push forward. My legs feel like they've lost all will to go one, my mind is begging me to change my course, and my chest is being crushed under the weight of the air around me.

I close my eyes, and breathe in. Cool, calming air crashes into my lungs, settling my body back into its normal operation.

Come on, I think. Get it together. You're a Schnee, not some layabout who panics at the first sign of trouble. Opening my eyes, I raise my hand up to the door, and this time I hit it. Three brief, sharp knocks smash through the silence, and I weave my fingers together, awaiting a reply.

I don't have to wait long. The door clicks and then swings open, revealing the irate face of Glynda Goodwitch, my math teacher/torturer. It takes her a minute to recognise me, and I feel my lips slip into a frown. Quickly correcting it, I stick out my hand.

"Weiss Schnee," I say, hoping to avoid any further delays. She takes it, warily, like it's a loaded gun that might go off at any moment. "I wanted to speak with you about my math test?"

Her eyes sharpen as who I am sets in. Her grip grows firmer, and she gives me a short nod. "Come in."

I smile, and walk in, shutting the door behind me. The room itself is no lighter than the hallways, save for a yellow lamp on Goodwitch's desk, providing a beacon for the two of us as we make our way through the class.

"Sorry about the light," she says, taking a seat behind her desk. "It's a new energy saving measure."

"It's quite alright."

She pulls out a drawer, the old wood shrieking as it grinds against its rails. Out from its depths comes a blindingly white stack of paper, harsh as the midday sun on a snowy mountain. "Weiss Schnee…Weiss Schnee…" she says as she flips through the pages, before laying one in front of me. It's mine; my name is near the top, inked in bent script. I slowly pick it up by its edges, taking care not to wrinkle the page. My eyes dart around its surface, searching for the double-digit number that will decide all.

Sixty.

Sixty percent.

That's…

That's barely passing!

My eyes careen upwards, meeting Goodwitch's in a clumsy display of panic. "This—this can't be right!"

"I'm afraid it is," she says, prying the paper out from my two dead hands. She flips it over, turning the… _better_ side away from me and exposing the soft stomach of the beast. Her finger hovers over the final question. "I wanted to talk to you about this one…"

My breath hitches. The silver eyed girl had… talked to me about that one. Was that dolt the reason my mark is so low? I was going to _strangle_ her!

"—your answer's correct, but your work isn't."

…What?

"Miss Goodwitch, what are you…?"

She sets the paper down and meets my eyes, peering into my soul as if she was firing bullets from her green depths. "Weiss, I know Ruby told you the answer."

I squint my eyes. "Ruby?"

"The girl sitting in front of you, with the red hoodie?"

My mind searches through its records, and still comes up empty. I lightly shake my head.

"Silver eyes?"

"Her!" I shout, filling in the gaps of my recall of the girl. Red hoodie, short, silver eyes. Gleaming silver eyes, full of liquid moonlight. What an odd colour…

"Her, yes." Goodwitch sighs. "Weiss, if I were to make a recommendation, I would suggest you drop down to dash-2 math—"

"No!" I slam my hands on the desk and shoot upwards, the chair shrieking in complaint as I push it behind me. "I can do this!" I _have_ to do this.

She sighs again. "That's what I thought." Her hands push together, her fingers intertwining within each other. "So instead, I suggest that you find someone who can help you. Someone like Ruby," she says, her green eyes softening to overgrown grass. "She's one of my best students."

An undignified snort falls from my lips, tumbling into the room like an animal, driven mad by its own desires. "Please, that girl? How old is she, sixteen?"

The grass sharpens into poisoned thorns. "Fifteen. And currently sitting at ninety-eight average."

The bottom of my mouth briefly loses its connection to my brain and falls open, against my direct order to do otherwise. "Ninety…eight?" I breathe, blinking several times as if it would clarify her statement.

The right corner of her lip twitches upwards, almost imperceptibly. "Ninety-eight percent. Ninety-five in science."

A picture of the girl in question gains focus within my head as we speak, the photo lab of my head realising that 144p was not, in fact, enough detail. It's odd, I cannot remember what I answered for most of the those questions, yet I can still easily recall Ruby's hood, the way the light glinted off her teeth, the mouse-like squeak she gave when I first noticed her, or the way that my face was reflected within those deep eyes of hers, with my scar missing.

I let out a quiet sigh, and harden my graphite gaze into diamonds as I turn them back to Goodwitch. "I'll meet with her," I say, nodding. Glynda gives me a soft smile.

"I hope she can help you."


	5. Blake-2

Blake

The sun was finishing its daily run across the sky as I turned the key of my car, and heard the ancient machine roar to life. The dials drunkenly rose to life, gas settling at nearly full, oil, temperature, all in their comfort zones. Buzzing buses pulled up to the school, taking in their loads of children before flying off, to deposit them at their home flowers. I settle down in my seat, the cheap fabric rubbing against my arms as I stare towards the open doors of the school, searching for neon yellow or a splotch of red.

For a while, neither shows up. I see the right colour passing by my car, but it's only Sun, firing off a quick wave before jumping on his bike. I reciprocate, but I'm not sure he sees me before he starts grinding gears and pedals off. I lean back, letting my breath gather above me, turning into a small cloud of condensation.

The back door clicks out a hello, and I hear a thump as someone's body falls into the backseat. I twist myself around, smiling, but I already know who it is. Yang would've jumped in beside me, leaving only her red-faced, sweat-soaked sister, lying in the forest green seats, panting like a dog in the desert. Her eyes fall to me, weary with exhaustion. "Hey Blake."

"Hey Ruby," I say, smiling. A small, wry chuckle rises up my throat and out of my lips. "Gym?"

She nods, and then flops her head against the cushions. She flips over, and her arms reach to the bottom of her jacket, ripping it off, before discarding the sweat collector on the floor, and leaving her hands dangling to keep it company. "We had to do soccer…"

"Well, you're not bad at that," I say, while reaching down into the small crevasse that lies between my seat and Yang's future seat. My hands grope blindly, until they luck upon their prize. I lift up a small, yet heavy bag, full of white snow, dusting the surfaces of Candyland geology. Ruby's eyes may be on the roof, but her ears are permanently set to the frequency of sugar, so within seconds I'm fending off a rabid puppy.

Thankfully, I'm saved by my knightess in shining spandex. "Rubes, what did I tell you about tackling Blake?" Yang says as she steps in. Her words are directed towards her sister, but her eyes meet mine, and stay there. Bright pools of violet, deep enough that I could lose myself in them, burrow into my own shimmering sparks of amber. My lips rise up on automatic, following instincts that could never be buried, even under the weight of the entire world's glare.

Ruby groans. "Are you two going to kiss again?"

Yang's face switches to blood red, and she quickly averts her gaze, albeit still grinning like a lottery winner. I turn around, facing the front window, and shift into reverse. My own skin is a mirror of Yang's, and I'm sure my smile would give a clown a run for its money, but I also cast a worried glance around the parking lot. There's no stares, no open jaws, just the few stragglers stumbling around, blind to the reaction taking place within this car. I should have known we were safe; Ruby wouldn't risk saying anything if we weren't.

Yang reaches back and slugs her sister on the arm. Of course, this being Yang, it's not a gentle knock, but a knockout jab delivered directly to a girl nearly a foot shorter than her. My own arm aches in sympathy.

Ruby sits up; rubbing her arm like that will make the bruise vanish. "Ow! Yang!"

"Stop being a pest!"

"I'm not—ugh!" Her body turns to mush, and she spreads out across the backseat.

A brief snort rips from Yang's lips, and she pulls the seatbelt down around her body. Bright sunlight reaches in through the window and presses down on her shimmering hair, darkens her still rosy cheeks, and lets me see the way her chest gently pushes against the belt, like a cat kneading against someone's stomach.

"Blaaaake, stop staring at my sister…"

I smirk, and reverse the car out of the parking lot, listening to the sputtering of Yang as I drive.

* * *

"I spy… that van."

"Nope."

"I spy… a cloud."

"Which cloud?"

"Ugh…" Yang groaned, leaning back against her chair and closing her eyes. "I spy isn't supposed to be this hard…"

"Well, next time, don't pick _white_ then," I say, keeping my eyes locked on the road ahead of me. Right now, the city's cars are caught in sticky sap, their wheels unable to move forward. The entire street is packed, bumper to bumper, like some horrifically hot and boring game of Tetris.

I glance over at Yang to see if she shares my torment, only to catch sight of a drop of sweat, tracing a glimmering line down her neck, over the small point of her collarbone, and into her shirt. Her hand grips the hem of her collar and pulls down, dragging the fabric of the shirt lower and lower, showing more and more—

Eyes on the road Blake, eyes on the road.

"Rubes, you got any idea what she's talking about?" Yang asks, with the only reply being the humming and beeping of the street. She turns around, straining the belt against her shoulder, and faces the back. "Rubes?"

"Hmph?" Ruby says, and I can almost imagine the way her eyes linger on the window before saying hello to Yang's. "What were you saying?"

Yang points a thumb towards me. "I was asking if you knew what Miss Smarty-pants over here was talking about."

"Oh," Ruby says, shuffling in her seat. "Uh, no, sorry, I don't."

Yang's eyes flick towards me, my own gaze tearing itself away from the riveting events outside. I shoot one last glance towards the frozen streets, and we both turn to the now blushing girl in the backseat.

"Oh god… not this again…"

"Rubes," Yang starts, laying a gentle hand on Ruby's knee. "Is everything alright?"

Ruby tries to shuffle away, but her knees hit the door, sending noise throughout our little enclosure. She bunches up her shoulders, shrinking down to a little, red ball. "I'm fine."

"Please, Ruby, you know you can talk to us," I say.

Ruby lets out a soft sigh, and the dam breaks. "It's… I met this girl in math class and I kinda maybe sorta helped her cheat and then she yelled at me and I don't know her name and it's been bugging me all day," floods out, drowning me in words. I'm left staring at her, my mind trying to sort through the ocean Ruby just deposited in my head.

Yang, on the other hand, is easily able to sift through and find the pertinent information. "You helped someone cheat?"

 _Somewhat_ pertinent information.

Ruby's face turns into her favorite colour, and she glares at her older sister. "Not the point!"

Yang opens her mouth to say more, but I place a hand on her arm and say, "It's not an issue Ruby, _is it Yang?"_

The subject in question whips her head towards mine, a finger just under her slightly open lips. adds a slight tilt, and then…

What was I going to say again?

I shake the treacherous thought of Yang making that same face, only with far less clothing, out of my head and onto the floor, where I squash it with a carefully timed stomp on the gas pedal. We jut forward, keeping in pace with the microscopic movement of the rest of the traffic.

"Alright, alright, I'm done," Yang says, holding up her hands in defeat. She turns to her sister. "So Rubes, lay it on me."

"Um, what?"

Yang rolls her eyes, and leans forward. "The girl? Describe her; I'm sure me and Blake must have seen her around."

"Well… okay…" Ruby takes in a breath. "She's… got this really, really white hair, and blue eyes, and kinda a pointy chin, but not really pointy, just… you know, sharp, but not too sharp, like…"

Yang holds up a hand, Ruby's never-ending train of words crashing into its calloused surface. "Rubes, you could've stopped at white hair. Seriously, how many people in the school have _white_ hair?"

"How many people have purple eyes?"

"…Touché."

Ruby lets out an exaggerated sigh, and thumps her head against the seat. "So who is it?"

Yang chuckles, and spins around so she's facing the front. "Weiss Cream, the queen bitch of the school."

"Yang," I warn, slugging her in the arm before turning to Ruby. "Her name is Weiss _Schnee._ She's in my L.A. class, and the book club. Really smart, and…" Reluctant agreement passes through my lips as a groan. "She's a… little bit of a bitch."

"A little bit?"

"…Fine, a big, giant bitch. Happy?"

Yang smirks, and pokes my nose. "Of course, you're here."

My skin feels like liquid sunshine is being poured all over it, but I make the herculean effort to regard her words with nothing more than a cool glance. (Not that it fools her for a second)

"Weiss Schnee…" Ruby whispers. "Weiss Schnee… it's a really nice name."

Yang turns around, and takes in Ruby's dreamy look like a predator spotting an easy prey. "Aw, does my little sister have a crush?"

The gentle warmth from her words is torn away by the icy hands of shock. My head grinds around to face her. Yang continues to smirk at her sister, unaware of the effect of her words.

She starts to sing. "Ruby and Weiss, sitting in a tree, K, I, S—"

I grab her hand, digging my nails into her flesh. "Yang, _stop._ "

Her eyes meet my own, confusion clouding their normally bright gleam. "What?"

My eyes turn to glass, glaring at her from narrowed lids. "Think about what you just said."

Her own eyes narrow, before being pulled up by realisation and shock. "Oh god," she breathes. "Oh god, oh god oh god." Turning to Ruby, she says, "I am so, so sorry. I—I wasn't thinking, and—"

"Yang, it's okay."

"No Rubes, it's not. I… I shouldn't have…" I can hear the weight pressing down on her voice, threatening to break through. Yang closes her eyes, balling her hands into fists.

Ruby, being the lovable, give hugs to serial killers person she is, lays a hand on her sisters shoulder, and squeezes. "Don't worry about it." She shrugs. "It's… not _that_ big of a deal."

Yang lifts her eyes to Ruby, malleable steel meeting solid jewel. "Yeah, Rubes, it is. It is a big deal," she says, grabbing Ruby's hand and holding it tight.

"Biggest in the world."

The sea finally begins to move, and I press down on the accelerator. Ruby and Yang both lean back into their seats, Yang's hand immediately searching for mine.

Our digits meet on top of the gear stick, her warmth surrounding my hand, clamping my fingers down in a vice. Through the touch I can feel her uncertainty, her fear, her anger towards herself, and try and push as much positivity as I can back.

I stare out at the sky, grimacing at the storm clouds now circling the city.

All that fuss over a name.

I let out a sigh. At least it's over. For good, most likely.


	6. Yang-2

**Yang**

It wasn't long before Blake pulled up to our house, killing the engine with a practised twist of her hand, and grabbing mine and squeezing it tight. Her fingers feel cool and steady against my skin, like stepping into an air-conditioned room after a long, hot day in the sun. Her touch curls my lips upwards, and I gently set my head down on her shoulder. Tension oozes out of her frame, absorbed by the ground below, lost forever.

Ruby kicks open the door and steps out. "I'll, uh, head inside, then?"

A chuckle rips itself from my throat. "Probably a good idea. Tell Mom we'll be a few minutes."

She gives me a quick thumbs up, and then leaves me alone with the angel sitting next to me.

Blake throws her arm around my shoulder, her fingers gallivanting through the blonde strands. My eyes pull themselves down, and she manages to push a soft, content sigh out of my throat. If anyone else was touching my hair, even Ruby, I'd be trying to bite their arm off, but Blake… Blake is…

She's Blake.

I could sit like this forever, doing nothing, thinking nothing for hours on end. However, something cold and sticky runs through my veins, stealing away the warmth and care Blake bequeaths me.

"I…" I say, my voice a thin, reedy note, carried on for far too long. "I can't believe I said that to her."

A sigh falls from Blake's lips. "I know, and I'm sure she knows that you didn't mean anything by it."

"I know, but…" I sigh. "It's not fair. I was just… teasing her, but it so…"

"Wrong?"

"Yeah! It was like… It was like I was insulting her, but I wasn't. Really, I didn't… I didn't even realise what it sounded like." Another sigh rips itself from my lips, loud, powerful, and full of anger and resentment that I don't let myself feel. "Why does this have to be so… hard?"

Blake brushes her lips against my hair in reply,

I close my eyes and wrap my arm around her, pulling myself closer. The smell of strawberries fills my nose, reaching into my blood and countering the chill of guilt. A smile grows on my lips, unbidden, but certainly not unwanted. My nose buries itself in her black locks, almost by instinct. "Did you get a new shampoo?"

Heat rushes out from her skin, but her answer is kind, "Yeah, I did. Is it… you know, nice?" Her free hand rises to her hair, rubbing a strand between two fingers.

A laugh rises from my chest. "I love it," I say, and press my lips to her neck. "And I love the girl it belongs too."

I don't miss the way her eyes dart towards the door as I say that, but neither do I miss the unrestrained grin spreading across her face. Her head turns towards me, showing every inch of her glowing skin, brought to life by the sun peeking in through the windows. "You'd say that if I smelt like a skunk."

Our noses touch, lacking the intensity of a kiss, but somehow just as wonderful. "I'd say that if you _were_ a skunk."

Her eyes twinkle with barely contained joy, and the urge to kiss her, press her down into the seat and show her _exactly_ what she means to me rises up like an angry grizzly bear. My hand grips her hair, no longer the soft caress's we had before, but I take care not to yank anything out. I can feel her breath on my skin, hot, gentle, fast.

Our lips meet in a frenzied rush, strawberry flooding in, settling in every crevice of my mouth. (Note to self, find out where she buys that lip gloss) Jolts of lightening shoot from my lips, all the way down to the base of my spine. Heat passes between us on a highway of pure togetherness, and I feel her hands push my head towards her, asking—demanding more, more, more. I, of course, am all too happy to oblige.

Then, just as quick as it started, it's over. Her hands fly downwards, towards my chest, and push me away. It hurts, both in the shot of rejection she just dumped straight into my arm, and the physical pain from basically getting punched in my boobs, but I don't hold it against her. The frantic looks she shoots towards our house, the street, like some crazy man with a knife is going to jump out at us, makes me set a hand down on her arm.

"I'm—I'm sorry," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

She immediately grabs my hand, and holds onto it like I'll fade away if she doesn't. "It's okay, it's okay, just… not the right time." A quick glance towards the house shows Ruby; staring at us from the front window, fake gagging. A wry grin grows on Blake's face. "Or place."

I laugh, louder than necessary. "I'm going to, you know, kill her. A lot. All of the killing."

She snorts, and whacks me on the arm. "Hey, I like her. Don't kill her too much."

I roll my eyes, my body and mind slipping back to this familiar, safer state. "Oh, alright. I'll just kill her a little bit. Just a pinch."

"Oh, just a pinch. I see," Blake says, opening the door and staring at me a grin brighter than the sun.

Shaking my head, I open my door and step out, feeling the cool evening air brush against my skin, wicking away the heat pouring off my skin. I hear a beep behind me as Blake locks the car, and I throw myself over the hood, using my unsteady landing to justify grabbing her hand to 'steady' myself.

"You sticking around?" I ask once I've found my footing. A worried frown plants itself on Blake's lips, and she pulls up her watch.

"I've got a few hours, at least," she says, staring me in the eye. "Need help studying?"

I nod, pulling out my keys. "Yeah, actually." I snort. " _Real_ studying too."

"Oh joy," she says, but her lips stretch upwards, reaching towards the sky.

A few hours studying with Blake.

I could think of worse things to be doing.


	7. Weiss-2

**Weiss**

Oddly enough, Ruby Rose's house was only a short distance from mine, located within the suburbs of the city. It wasn't terribly tall, two stories at most, and its paint was chipped in several places. However, it stood firm, strong, without any attempt to hide its injuries, yet somehow it did so without making it look… weak.

My eyes slide shut, trying to push the thoughts from my mind. Why am I analysing a house? I have more important things to worry about!

The walkway up to the front door is grey as a storm cloud, reaching up to a small set of stairs and melting into the house, belonging without a hint of rejection or difference. My feet meet it with a small clap, each step ringing out through the sky. Cars chattered away on the nearby road, cluttering the sky with their rapacious honks and grinding squeals.

I come up to the door. From within I can hear the gentle patter of feet, clangs as dishes are moved, and the gentle song of conversation, made unintelligible by the walls, yet all the sweeter for it.

My hand crashes against the wooden door, the harsh bangs intruding upon the sanctity of the home. Regret swells within me, rising to a peak as I lower my arm. Am I intruding? I've never met Ruby Rose before, yet here I am, standing at her front door, wearing a white sundress and flats _._ Why did I think that was a good idea? True, it was the most casual outfit I owned, but… well, that wasn't saying much.

The door swings open, cutting off any further doubt. Standing there, framed by a golden light, is a tall, young woman, with brown hair. Around her chest is a white hoodie, with "BEACON" spelt across its front. Two familiar, but darker silver eyes meet my own, curiosity warring with suspicion and doubt. Her mouth slips open. "…Hi?"

I stick out my hand. "Weiss Schnee, I'm… I wish to speak with Ruby Rose?"

Her eyes light up as I say her… daughter's name? Oddly young sister's name? "Oh! Oh you're from the school!"

"Um, yes, I am…" What am I doing? Come on Weiss; get it together! "Is she home?"

Her lips tug upwards, and she cranes her head behind her. "Ruby! Someone's here to see you!" she yells, before turning back to me. "I'm Summer, Summer Rose," she says, grabbing my hand. "Why don't you come in? Take those shoes off." She backs up, allowing me a pathway into her home.

I knew it meant nothing. I was a guest, and it was her job to provide me with hospitality. Yet… my legs are frozen, refusing to obey the command given. My skin flushes with ice water, and I feel the sudden urge to run the other way and never look back. I can't think of any reason why, except…

Except… I've never been in anyone else's house before. It seems so stupid, but it's true. This is the first time I've actually been anywhere else, and I'm having a panic attack over it.

I clench my jaw and swallow down the spit wallowing within my mouth. Schnee's do not get panic attacks.

"Thank you," I say, like fine crystal letting out a sharp ring. Without any further thought, I step inside the home, lifting my feet over the lip.

The moment my nose hits the warm air within, I'm bombarded with scents and sounds. Rich herbs waft from the kitchen, carrying rising bread and roasting meats. Sizzles and hums from cooking battle it out with beeps and voices barreling down the stairs, both given a harsh, grating quality. Some video game, no doubt. The TV is on, but only at a low murmur, and a second look shows me the local news station.

Something thumps against the stairs, like drums being played by a monkey. "Who is it?"

"Weiss—" Summer starts, before Ruby's eyes meet my own.

"Schnee," the red-haired girl finishes. Her name matches her perfectly, for that's exactly what her hair is. It's dark, dark enough that it almost looks black, but the tips shout their true colour loud and clear. She clearly must love red, as her hoodie is dripping with it, hanging of her shoulders and draping down to her legs, which are covered in blue denim. She looks like a superhero, clad in primary, contrasting colours.

"Um… h-hey," she says, her voice warbling like a duck caught in a tsunami. "You're the, uh, girl. From math. I mean, of course you're a girl, unless you're not, I guess, but then you probably wouldn't be wearing a dress—"

"I'm Weiss," I say, cutting off her word avalanche before I was buried alive. "Yes, I am 'the girl' from math. You're Ruby, correct?"

One of her hands seeks shelter within her pockets, while the other hides behind her head. "Uh, yep! That's me! I'm Ruby Rose… Nice to meet you?"

I snort, but my lips rise up anyways, beyond my control. "Well, I would hope so."

Her eyes grow to the size of small planets, and I see her arms freeze solid. "Uh, yeah! Yeah, it's, uh, great! Great to meet you! Awesome! Fantastic!"

Clearly, she's nervous, but that doesn't change the surprisingly large grin stretching her face, wide enough to show her teeth and crinkle her eyes. I'm struck by the image of a puppy.

"So, Weiss," Summer asks, stepping in-between Ruby and I, and heading into the kitchen. "Not that I mind meeting you, but why exactly are you here?"

Her words bring my actual purpose here back to the front of my mind, and a jolt rips through my body. "Right, I, well, I need, I could use…"

I take a breath. The words I need are harsh and bitter, sticking to my tongue as I try to push them out. Ruby comes down the stairs, nearing my body as if she could not hear me from above. She's shorter to me, much to my surprise and delight. It's rare that I can look _down_ at someone, rather than looking up.

I let the breath run free. "I've heard that you're good at math, correct?" I say, calm as the earth itself.

"Um, yeah? I mean, I think I'm pretty good…"

She thinks?

"Right," I say. "Well, I… I… could, well, I could use…" Oh, why can't I say it? I need, "Help."

"Sure."

"Of course, I would be perfectly willing to pa—wait, what?"

Ruby shrugs, like what I said is nothing more than a sprinkle of water on a spring day. Her eyes catch the light, shimmering as her skin breaks out into a broad smile. "Of course I'd help. Which part?"

I blink, trying to wash any falsehood from Ruby's face, but it remains the same, grinning widely, without any attempt at misconception.

"T-the current unit," I say, before narrowing my eyes. "But I can't just… I need to pay you back. Somehow."

Again, she shrugs, blowing off my attempt at reimbursing her. "Nah, don't worry about it."

My jaw sets, hard as diamond. "I have to do _something_ in return." I am _not_ going to be debt to these silver eyes, still peering at me, piercing my skin and reading my soul.

…I need to stop reading those vampire books.

Summer comes out of the kitchen, ripping off a clingy oven mitt and abandoning it on the counter. "How are you at English?" she asks.

I turn to her, still near the kitchen, and let out a rare, tightly leashed smile. "Ninety-five percent," I say, letting perhaps just a smidgen of pride leak through.

Summer's smile lights up the room, showing every teeth she owns. (Seriously, it is genetic?) "Well then, perhaps there is something you can do."

I know an opportunity when I see one, and I latch to this one with the strength of Hercules."Does your… daughter?" I guess, and receiving no rebuke, continue, "Require assistance in Language Arts?"

Summer leans against the counter, and gives me a nod.

I turn to Ruby; hand supporting her head like it would fall to the floor otherwise, and feel my lips curve upwards. I stick out a hand. "I would be very willing to offer assistance to such a fine young lady."

I hear a deep sigh fall from Ruby's lips, and then she lifts her head and grasps my hand. Her love for red has clearly started to affect her body, as her skin is a perfect match to the clothes she wears.

"That would be… very, very nice," she says, my hand shaking like it's being put through an earthquake. Her grip is solid enough to be used as body armor, and I'm sure half the cracking sound is from the hair being pushed out and not my breaking bones as my hand turns to dust.

Oh yes, this is going to be _lovely_.


	8. Ruby-2

**Ruby**

There's a stranger—specifically, Weiss Schnee—in my bedroom.

Weiss Schnee is in my bedroom, walking on my (filthy) floor, staring at my (filthy) desks, taking in every inch of the (filthy) room. A few stray articles of clothes lay abandoned, bitterly reminiscing about the olden days, back when they were clean. Lego, screws, bolts, pistons, and other parts and tools coagulate together on my desk, forming a giant, all-consuming ball of grease, steel, and polyurethane. Shelves upon shelves line the walls, straining under the weight of books and unfinished projects.

Meanwhile, I'm standing in the doorway, trying to keep my (probably filthy) hands out of sight, staring at the floor and wishing it would swallow me up and spit out a cleaner, way cooler Ruby.

"This is... What is this?" Weiss asks, picking up a partially assembled mess of wires and hydraulics. Protective instincts kick me, and before I can think, I'm across the room, forcing Weiss to set the device down.

"It's a model," I say. "Of a crane. Modified." Surprisingly, Weiss doesn't get mad or question why I forced the model down. She just looks… mortified, like she just shot a puppy. Only not _quite_ that bad, because killing puppies is the worst thing possible, and—

"Did you build all of these?" Weiss asks, gesturing to the many half and fully built models scattered around the desk and displayed on shelves.

I hop up on the desk and give her a nod. "Pretty much, yeah. I mean, Dad helped a bit, and Mom provided a lot of the glue and stuff but… yeah, I built them."

Weiss's hands meet a white sheet, and she brings it close, like her shirt is trying to absorb all the whiteness in the room. "That is a very… unique hobby, especially for a girl such as yourself."

"Um… thanks?" I say, as my skin is flushed with warm water. The room has turned into an Easy-Bake oven, so I pull off my hoodie and abandon it on my chair. "So, uh, do you want to start with math or…?"

Weiss's sharp sigh slices through my words and leaves them sputtering on the floor. "No, I would… prefer to start with the L.A, if that's alright."

"Um… sure, that's… that's fine," I mumble.

Weiss walks over to my desk and, gently, like she's performing surgery, sets the various bits and pieces off to the side. _Nobody_ does that, not even Yang, although that's because she's a walking disaster zone.

Meanwhile, I'm pulling my textbook out from my nice, warm backpack and exposing it to the outside world. The pages are crisp, clean, and perfectly white, but the small dots of dust and… whatever's sticking to the sides fire bullets straight into my heart.

"So, what exactly are you struggling with?" Weiss asks as I set the book down on my desk. Her eyes dart to the covers, tugging her lips down by a fraction of a centimeter, but nothing else comes of it.

"Um, well, uh…" Oh god, I'm going to sound like an idiot. "…All of it."

Her eyebrows rise upwards, like she suddenly needs more light to enter her pupils. "All… of it?"

A long time ago, Yang shot me in the face with a blast of water from the garden hose. It… hurt. A lot. That's kinda what Weiss's stare is like right now, only the hose is shooting lava. Filled with knives.

"Well, you know, I know, like, periods and comma's and stuff, but… I don't really get… clauses. Or… whatever those weird, period comma things are," I say, my head throwing itself downwards in a futile attempt to avoid Weiss's glare. Seriously, does she practice in the mirror or something?

"Semicolon's."

"Yeah! Those!"

A sigh fell from her lips, as tired as a sloth competing in the Olympics. Her feet pushed out the other chair, beckoning me to sit down.

"Okay," she says, taking in a deep breath. "Let's start with something simple. What is a clause?"

"Um… part of a sentence?"

Another sigh cuts through the room, aimed right towards the furnace. " _Letters_ are part of a sentence, Ruby. What _part_ is it?"

"I… uh…"

Weiss's glare grows stronger, her eyes miniature suns, pouring out enough radiation to reduce me to ash. While stabbing me with invisible knives.

"I don't… know."

Her right hand pinches her nose, like my ignorance has created a blood clot and she needs to get rid of it. "Of course you don't." Another sigh leaks out, and she sets her hand down on the desk. "I suppose that's why I'm here, is it not?"

My seat suddenly feels like ants are crawling over it. "I thought you needed help with your math?"

Apparently, her chair had the same ant problem, only they were biting at her skin and turning it red. "Yes, well, I… perhaps I do, yes, but I understand the _basics_ of the material. You…" she says, gesturing at me like I'm some indescribable eldritch abomination. "Do not."

I cross my arms, trying to protect myself from the onslaught leveled towards me. "I'm not that bad…"

"Yes, Ruby, you are," Weiss says, firing her words without any attempt to dull their cutting edge. "This is not a complicated subject. I honestly do not understand you've made it this far without knowing any of this…"

My mouth falls open, ready to fire back with defensive measures, but before this war can break out into open conflict, my door slams into the wall. Me and Weiss both flicked our eyes towards the sound, showing my big sister, flopping down on my bed. Clearly, she hasn't seen Weiss yet, probably because her hands are covering her eyes, and she seems to be infected with a zombie virus.

"I swear to god," she moans, splaying out her arms across the bed. "If I never have to see an organic compound again, it will be too soon. Way too freaking soon."

I raise a hand, briefly forgetting about the melting snowflake next to me. "Hey Yang," I say, giving my sister a wave.

"Hey Rubes," Yang replies, as a chain descends from the ceiling and pulls her upwards. "Whatcha do….ing..." Her words trail off as her eyes lock on to Weiss. The nerves controlling her jaw freeze, and her mouth hangs open.

I'm expecting Weiss to say or do something, but instead we get some kind of weird Mexican standoff. Yang's still staring at her, and Weiss is returning her gaze, and her own mouth drops open, although a lot less than Yang's.

I stand up, and walk to the middle of the two stare masters. "Um, Weiss, this is Yang, my sister, and Yang, this is… Weiss! My new tutor/tutoree!" My foot smashes into Yang's leg. "Say hello!" I hiss.

"Uh, hi! Weiss!"

Yang's words slap Weiss across the cheek, waking her up and causing her to shake her head. "Um, yes. It is very nice to meet you." Remembrance adds a slight edge to her eyes. "I know you from somewhere…"

"I'm in lacrosse, if that helps at all."

Weiss's eyes narrow, trying to keep the memory rattling around in her head from escaping. "I… yes, yes I do remember you. You always pick up… what's her name…?"

"Blake?" I offer, earning a small nod from Weiss.

"Um… cool," Yang says, propelling herself off the bed and to the desk. Her hands seek refuge within her pockets, and she leers over the wooden surface. "What are you doing?"

I shrug. "Just some L.A."

Yang cringes, my words a baseball bat speeding towards her head. "Ouch. This is the year where they dump _everything_ on you, isn't it?"

Another shrug rises out of me. "Pretty much."

"It's not that bad," Weiss suddenly says, pulling us back to face her like she pulled on our collars. "Really, it's just memorization."

"That doesn't mean it doesn't suck," Yang says, crossing her arms to ward off Weiss's volcano glare. "I had help, and I was still choking on all this crap."

Weiss's glare turns to ice, and she wrenches her eyes from Yang. My eyes flicker down to her hands, drawn like fireflies to her fingers trying to bury themselves within her skin.

"I'm _sure_ that's not the only thing you were choking on," she mutters, her voice honed to a killing edge. She's quiet enough that I almost can't hear her, but she underestimated my sister's hearing.

" _E_ — _excuse me?"_ Yang says, her eyes trying to grow wide enough to ensure that, yes, this is happening. "What the _hell_ do you think you're saying?"

I'm not going to deny it; my sister can be _terrifying._ I've heard a few times that getting on her bad side is kinda like getting on the bad side of a bear that can light itself on fire. So, really, I have to give some kudos to Weiss for turning around and rising against the tidal wave that is Yang Xiao Long.

With a voice that wouldn't melt butter, (and a smirk that would carbonize it) Weiss says, "I'm just wondering how much of your _studying_ was done _on_ a desk… or underneath it."

Her words manage to act as a brick wall for Yang. Any anger vanishes, allowing disbelief and sheer shock to take residence. Her jaw drops, and I see her hands, once clenched tightly into weapons of mass destruction, crumble in flat palms.

Meanwhile, I remain seated, my heart still racing from the electric shock Weiss just jammed through my body.

It's not long before I see my sister's jaw wrench itself back into position, and her eyes gain that frozen fire that shows me just how mad she really is.

"I…" Yang stutters, and I feel my heart stop, because _holy crap, she never stutters._ "I'm going… going to go, and cool off, before I _hurt_ you, alright?"

"I'd like to see you try," Weiss growls, and for a moment, I'm terrified that Yang's going to take that as an invitation and start throwing punches.

"…Whatever," Yang says, dousing the worry burning within my chest. "It was..." A sigh pushes out from her lips. "Bye, Rubes. Bye… Weiss." My door closes, and she's gone.

Weiss lets out a snort, and sits back down on her chair. "Well, now that that's over, let's get back to—"

"What was that?" I demand, slamming my book shut. Weiss blinks, my words crashing into her train of thought and forcing it to derail.

"Pardon?" She says, as if she doesn't understand, but I see her eyes dart towards the door, and her hands continue to claw at each other.

"That… whatever with Yang!"

"Oh," she whispers, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. "I was just… I..."

"You were acting like a… like a…" _Bitch,_ whispers a voice in my mind, but somehow I'm unable to actually say it. "Like a complete jerk!"

Weiss's eyes suddenly lock on to mine, providing a target for her next salvo. "I was simply stating what was _obviously_ fact. Is that wrong?"

"Yes!" I shout, splaying my arms out like I'm displaying a banner with all the reasons why. "It's wrong on _principle!_ And, your wrong about… well, everything!" Now I had the image of Yang doing… _that_ to our history teacher. (Who is, for the record, about a zillion years old, and the size of a small elephant)

That same, smug smirk dances across her lips, tap-dancing on my mind. "Are you _sure_ that's true?"

The image of Yang and Blake, kissing each other in the hallway when I come home from Jaune's house, and their demands of "Please don't tell anyone!" fill my mind.

"No," I say, my voice crashing through Weiss's armada and going straight through her mothership. "She would _never_ do that."

Weiss actually seems stunned. She recovers remarkably quickly, however. "Well, can you blame me?"

"Uh… yeah? Yeah I can."

She waves my argument away, like it's nothing more than a scent on the wind. "No, I mean, you saw how she was dressed, right?"

…Okay, now I'm confused. I think back, trying to remember if Yang was wearing something outrageous. Or if she was naked again. (It involved a lot of alcohol, and a monkey. Don't ask.) The only image that comes to my mind is a yellow tank-top and grey sweatpants. Her normal, everyday casual wear.

"I mean, you could see everything! It was like she didn't even care how much… _flesh_ was just… there! On display! Like meat at a supermarket!"

"…Were you staring at my sister's boobs?"

Weiss turns red faster than a traffic light during rush hour. "No!" she all but screams, and then turns to my textbook fast enough to break the sound barrier. "Can we just… work? Please?"

Some small, angry part of me want to kick her out for what she just did, but the rest of me remembers just how badly I need this L.A mark. It's the screw needed to hold the rest of my report card together, and Weiss is the only screwdriver I have available.

So without a word, I grit my teeth and start studying.


	9. Blake-3

**Blake**

The door to Yang bedroom erupts, spewing the owner through its confines. My eyes flicker from the book held within my hands to her, my heart immediately rocketing to life once I see the flames racing under her skin.

"What's wrong?" I ask, shutting away the words in front of me.

Yang stomps over to the bed and falls down on its surface, her face dangling over the edge like a tree sticking out of a mountain. "I hate her."

"Hate who?"

A groan passes through her lips, and she flips herself over, eyes nailed shut. "Weiss."

It takes a minute for that name to find the memory it belongs to. "That girl Ruby was asking about?"

"Yeah, her." Her hands rise to her face, trying to rub away her skin. "She's in Ruby's room, helping her study, and I went in there to talk a little bit, and—god, she's just as bad as I thought."

"What she do?"

Yang rose upwards, a monster awakening from its sleep. "You know, nothing much. Just wondered how much "studying" I did under desks."

I quirk my brow. "Studying…?"

"With teachers."

"What are you…?" Suddenly it clicks, and a flame ignites within my skin. "Seriously?"

"Yep," Yang says, popping the 'p'. "I—I had to get out of their before I… Before I did something I _really_ would have regretted."

A dark laugh claws its way out between my lips. "I'm not so sure _regret's_ the right word."

"Heh," Yang chuckles. "You might be right. Still, the media coverage would suck."

Another, lighter laugh bubbles from my chest, rising into the room. "I can see it now; Yang Xiao Long, exonerated because, "She deserved it."

A laugh falls from Yang's lips, gleaming bells tinkling against a chorus of angels. "Yeah, can't really get in trouble for murdering a tool, can you?"

My hand glides across the sheets, resting on her own and encircling her fingers. A smile graces my lips. "I wasn't talking about her."

Her lips curl upwards, and I feel heat wafting off her hand, like a warm fire on a cold morning. "Stop that," she whispers, placing her other hand on top of mine. "I'm trying to be angry here…"

"Don't," I say, and then lean in, my lips melting into hers for a (far too) short moment. "You're cuter when you're happy."

Her eyelids pull together, but there's no malice swimming within those purple depths. "Did you seriously just call me cute?"

"Oh, sorry," I say, rolling my eyes. "You're _breathtakingly beautiful_ when you're happy."

"And don't you forget it."

Another laugh fills the room, her bells meeting with my strings, mixing into our song. I feel Yang shift closer to me, craving my touch at an instinctual level. I oblige.

Sadly, it's not long before Yang stops, the vibrant purple of her eyes turning stormy. Her grip on my hand remains as strong as diamonds, but I fear it has turned as brittle. "I can't believe that she… that she'd say something like though, you know?"

"Yang…" I moan, resting my head on her shoulder. "Forget about it. You said it yourself; she's a bitch."

"I know, but…" Her shoulders tense beneath my cheek. "I didn't do anything. I was barely in there for five minutes before she started throwing insults. If she's that much of a jerk, then… why would my mom let her up?"

"Maybe she's nice to adults?" I suggest.

"Maybe." She doesn't sound convinced. "She's in your book club, right? She ever like this there?"

It takes me a minute to sort through all the times I've noticed Weiss in that club. The fact that I can only remember a handful of occasions provides my answer. "Not… really. She doesn't really talk much, beyond what's absolutely necessary."

"Really?"

I nod. "You've heard her talk more than I have."

She blinks. "Um, wow. I feel special now."

"Yes, you are _quite_ skilled at drawing people out."

Her arm reaches around my shoulder, and pulls me in closer. Her scent fills my nose, remnants of her shampoo competing with sweat. (Somehow, I don't mind it) "It worked on you, didn't it?"

A snort flies out my lips. "You stole my book."

"I was five! And I gave it back!"

"After you made me play jump rope for three hours."

"Oh, don't tell me you didn't have fun." Yang twists her head, and brushes her lips against my hair. "Besides, I think it turned out pretty well, don't you?"

Liquid sunlight runs down my skin, my lips rising into a toothy smile. "I'd still like that book back."

"Oh, sure. Do you even remember what it was?"

"The very hungry caterpillar."

"…Of course you remember…"

More laughs rise from my chest, drawn out by the radiant sunrise next to me. Heat flushes through my skin, rushing through my veins, swirling in my heart, and coursing down into a very… _very_ familiar spot.

Mindful of Summer below, and the girl in the room over, I push myself away, ignoring the soft whine Yang gives at my absence.

As a form of consolation, I grab her shoulder. (Far, _far_ too tightly) "Don't worry about Weiss," I say, my voice warbling between "G" and "Seriously not G". "She'll… She'll be gone soon, and then you can just avoid her."

"Yeah…" Yang says, letting out a sigh. Then her lips pull up, and she turns to me with a radiant grin that is _really not helping right now._ "You're right."

"It's not like she'll be sticking around."

* * *

 **Tempting fate is fun.**


	10. Weiss-3

**Weiss**

Have you ever tried to tear down a brick wall by scratching at it with your hands? If so, you'll understand just how… _excruciating_ my evening has been.

Shortly after that blond bimbo left, Ruby tossed her Language Arts book to the side and declared that we were doing mathematics now, no arguments. I _dearly_ wished to continue in my comfort zone, but then I saw the sparks gather in her eyes, threatening to spill out at the slightest touch.

I pulled out my calculator, and got to work.

I was amazed she was still willing to help me. Given how… _poorly_ she had reacted before, I would assumed she'd refuse, or finally demand payment. Not that I minded.

That was an hour and a half ago.

"And so that's… a seven?" I say, scratching out the answer on the paper slate before me. I pass it over to the girl next to me. A breath in the shape of a knife falls from Ruby's lips, and she leans over the page.

"Yeah, seven's right. Don't forget to show your work."

"I have."

A thin, smooth finger traces down the lines of my writing, curving around each bend and twist. "How'd you get this one?"

"I added, of course."

"You need to show that."

A growl yaps in my throat, thrashing at the gate. My teeth clamp down, hard, squashing any attempt at escape. "What teacher would need to me to spell out _addition?"_

"The kind that write math tests. You have to show _everything."_

My lips fall downwards, and I leer down at the page. "I'm sure you're _quiet_ familiar with that…" I mutter.

I can hear Ruby's scowl grow, but she offers no other acknowledgement of my words.

A few minutes later, I lean back from the page. "There, is this better?"

I'm expecting her to grab the page, or perhaps simply glare at it like she could light it on fire. Instead, she leans over, right over my lap, so that the edges of her hair brush against my chest, and I can smell her hair, rose mixing with vanilla.

Why is she so close? It's… It's terrible! I'm so distracted, I can't even verbalise a response, just staring at the back of her head until she pulls away.

"You're fine," she says, unaware of the anger leaking through my skin, turning into a perfect match of her name. "Just don't forget BEDMAS, and remember to write everything down."

Of course I know that. I've known that since I was a child. I open my mouth to say so, but nothing comes out. Ruby turns her head, eyes narrowing at my widened mouth.

"Uh… Weiss? You okay?"

Her words crash into me like ice on a summer day. My jaw muscles return to my control, and I slam my mouth shut. "Fine," I state, untrusting of my ability to speak cohesively. "I—I should be going."

I stand up, far too quickly, and send my chair crashing down to the floor. My muscles lock together; my mind running through every possible rebuke Ruby could level at me. "I'm sorry, I wasn't—"

Ruby does none of that, instead bending down, picking up the chair, and… letting out a soft giggle? "Don't worry about it, these things are about to fall apart." Her laughs stop. "Besides, it's not the worst you've done."

I feel as if I've been shot. My heart suddenly weighs as much as a bar of gold, and looking up to her rounded cheeks and gleaming pools of silver does nothing to help. The first words on my lips, a harsh rebuke that would certainly create hatred, and end whatever compassion lead Ruby to continue speaking with me.

An apology worms its way through my throat, squirming around a sudden lump. "I'm—I'm sorry—"

"Don't," Ruby growls, holding up a hand. "I don't want to hear it."

Irritation flushes through my system, clearing away the blockage like drain cleaner. "I'm trying to apologize, you dunce—"

"To me," she says, hands curling into fists. "To someone you _need,_ and that you didn't actually do anything to." One of her hands flies to the door, restrained only by the arm it's connected to.

"It's—you're the one here, and—"

"She's in the next room. Just go knock on the door."

"I…" Her eyes won't leave mine, gray thunderclouds glittering with strikes of lightening. I want to run, to go home, but I'm frozen in place, rooted to the floor like an ice sculpture. "I—I really should be going."

Her head droops down, like a dying flower. "That's… That's what I thought." She walks through the door, and turns to me, her once fierce eyes dulled to old concrete. "I'll show you out."

Her head whips around, a long, dark breath tumbling from her lips, and she walks out.

Leaving me alone with no one but myself.

As always.

* * *

Stepping downstairs, I'm immediately treated to a horrific bang as the window flashes white. Ruby and her mother stand by it, staring out into the hailstorm.

As in, an actual hailstorm, for once.

A rather large specimen careens into the window, bouncing off with a… somewhat disturbing crack.

Summer turns her head, shooting me a small smile. (Clearly Ruby hasn't told her about what transpired upstairs. Another confusing element added to this _wonderful_ equation) "I don't suppose you have an underground tunnel home, do you?"

It's a joke, but my mind's so far elsewhere that I take it seriously. "No."

A snort falls from her lips, and she turns back out to the storm. "Well, I guess you're staying here for a while then. Good thing I'm making pizza!"

Blue eyes and grey eyes meet, temporarily forged into allies by a common thought.

 _You have GOT to be kidding me._


	11. Yang-3

**Yang**

I was still too jacked up from Weiss's little insult game to actually do any studying, so after the third time Blake has to draw my attention from the wall, she lets out a sigh and pulls me down on the bed. Her arms encircle my stomach, gluing themselves to my skin, and I can feel the tension drain out of my muscles, falling to the floor in a miserable puddle, before scurrying away.

Her legs entwined with my own, she pulls a book out from the bedside table, and brings it to bear in front of us. Her eyes began to flicker across the page, murmuring each word into my ear, caressing the flesh with her breath.

I feel my eyelids flicker shut, but I fight to keep them open, simply to enjoy her embrace for a few more precious seconds. Tiredness battles my will, both fighting valiantly, but soon I feel my eyes slide shut, and lose myself to the comforting darkness.

* * *

BANG BANG BANG!

The world crashes back into view, colours dancing across my eyes until they settle upon my room. Pins rip themselves through my skin as I bring my arms under myself, pushing against the mattress with the force of a wet noodle.

Blake's arms pull themselves free, fingers ghosting over my ribs as they go. My limbs imbued with a new sense of purpose, I turn myself over, locking my eyes on the goddess before me.

"Hey sleeping beauty," I say, my voice slurred. "Have a good catnap?"

Her eyes glance towards the closed and locked door, and she leans forward to plant a kiss on my lips. "Quite. I suppose you could call it… _purrfect."_

A laugh jumps up my stomach, through my throat, and out into the air. "Leave the puns to me, kitten."

BANG BANG BANG! "You guys awake?" It's Ruby's voice.

"Uh, yeah! We're good! You can come in!"

The door rattles, like there's a screw loose somewhere. "It won't open."

Heat courses through my skin, much less welcome than the heat at my side. "Oh, right. It's kinda… locked." I turn to the black-haired beauty next to me and plant one last kiss on her forehead. "Back in a second."

Her lips roll upwards, along with her eyes. "Yes, I will wait for you to finish your _arduous_ journey to the door."

I snort. "Every soldier's got someone to come back to, right?"

She pushes me away, even as she plucks laughter from the song of her heart. "Go, before she grabs the axe."

I give Blake a quick salute, and swing my legs over the edge of my bed, planting them on the carpeted floor below.

BANG! BANG! BANG! Each thump grows louder and louder, and I feel a sudden level of pity for the poor doorframe.

"I'm coming! Jeez, is the house on fire?"

The only lock to undo is the one in the knob itself, and within seconds, I'm staring into my little sister's face, who's looking at me like she broke my bike again. (There's a reason Ruby has no wrenches bigger than her finger) "Hey Rubes… what's up?"

"Uh…" Her eyes flee downwards, avoiding the purple searchlights. Her hand hides behind her neck, scratching at her skin like an innocent whistle. "Did you notice the storm?"

Light flashes through the room, and I hear the twang of the window as something crashes into it. A few seconds later, a deep rumble tears into my ear, like a giant just realized he's hungry. "Yep."

"Right," I say, the proper item still caught in its metal coil.

Finally, it falls into reach.

"What."

"See, it turns out she walked here, and Mom doesn't want her walking home in the storm and—"

"Blake could drive her," I offer, as my heart tries to smash its way through my chest. "Or I could take her on my bike, or—"

"Uh…" Oh no, she's doing that 'looking down at the floor and grinding her heel' thing. "Yeah, Mom… kinda invited her to dinner."

I don't do anything for a _long_ five minutes.

Then the door slams shut, and I press my back against it, allowing the wood to provide a target for my thrashing heart.

Blake, sitting up on the bed, quirks her eyebrow at me. "You were going to put me, alone, in a car with her?"

I raise a hand, brushing away imaginary smoke from my eyes. "I would've come with." One side of my mouth juts upwards. "Maybe we could have a 'breakdown' on the way back…"

Red flushes down from the tips of her ears to the bottom of her feet. (Yes, I know that for a fact) Her mouth parts to answer—

BANG BANG BANG!

My eyes slide shut, forcing annoyance out through my nose as a sigh. Counting to three, I turn around and reopen the door.

Ruby's hand just barely stops before my chest, and she whips it down so fast I'm afraid she broke something. "Um, the foods ready. Dad's busy, again, so…"

"Perfect," I mutter, letting out another monster of a sigh. "And Weiss is down there?"

Her head slowly nods, like I'll eat her if she moves too quickly.

"Fantastic," I mutter again. My hand rises towards my forehead, trying to convince the jackhammer within it to kindly shut up. "We'll—we'll be down there soon, alright?"

"Uh, sure, no problem." She creeps away, shooting me a final look before darting down the stairs.

I slam the door shut, and twist my head towards Blake. "Into the breech once more…"

Blake stands up and walks over. I turn around to face her, just in time for her hands to meet my shoulders. "Don't worry about it," she says. "It's not like she'll do anything with your mom there."

A snort falls from my mouth, like a bullet 'falling' down a barrel. "Great, instead we get a few hours of awkward small talk and passive-aggressiveness. Fun fun fun…"

She tilts her head, a smile crinkling her skin. "What, the big bad lacrosse player can't handle a girl in a dress?"

My lips turn into a mirror of hers. "I never could."

Her smile grows wider, showing each of her pearly teeth.

"Kiss for luck?" I ask, shining my own back at her.

Blake rolls her eyes, but brings her lips in, closer, closer…

Then shifts to the right, landing on my cheek. "You'll get a real one if we make it through this alive, alright?"

"Aw, but what if we don't? Do I get one last kiss?"

She purses her lips, but I can see the mischief prancing within her golden depths. "Fine," she says, and pushes against my mouth, hard. A soft squeal echo's from the depths of my throat, and I can feel my brain melting as she brings her hands down to my sides.

"There," she says as she pulls away. "Now you've got two. Should be plenty of good luck."

"Aw, but Blake! That was a goodbye kiss! Those are bad luck!"

"Then why did you want it?"

My eyelids flutter, stopping at the halfway mark, turning Blake into an ethereal being of radiance. "Maybe I just like kissing you?"

Her eyes roll, but I see the red soak through her skin. She turns me around and opens the door, shoving me through its wooden frame. "Come on; let's go before Ruby breaks out the cattle prod."

I hold up my hands, and start moving under my own power. "Alright, alright, I'm going."

The hallway is dark, and that darkness creeps into my blood, swirling within the depths of my heart.

"This is going to be _fun,_ isn't it…"


	12. Ruby-3

**Ruby**

There's a tense truce around the dinner table this night, my fleet parked next to Weiss's little island, heated glares being passed like a football in a game of catch. My insides are a roiling mess of bitter paste and acidic juice, crashing against each other in chaotic waves. Mom, still unaware of what had happened upstairs, gives the scene an odd look, bringing in a large pizza and setting it down.

"Um... yeah, dig in," she says, taking a seat at the head of the table.

My hand shoots upwards, towards the pizza, and rips a slice free of its cheesy grip.

Yang and Blake do the same. Weiss uses her fork to pick it up, and starts cutting it into sad little chunks.

Mom takes her own piece, but doesn't start in on it. Instead, she locks eyes with Weiss, who's currently trying to sublimate into the air. "So, uh… how'd my girl do?"

A small cough forces it's way through Weiss's lips, and she raises a hand to her mouth. "Fine," she says, her voice pulled tight enough to cut steel. "She is a… _fine_ tutor."

"Oh," Mom says, eyes flickering to me. "That's… that's good to hear."

Weiss bites down on her lip, and brings a square of pizza to her mouth. Eyeing the red and white dish, she parts her mouth and shoves it in, as if her insides would be sucked out if she kept it open for too long. "This is a… very nice dish."

Mom shoots her a smile. "Thank you, Weiss. It's my father's recipe."

Weiss's lips quirk upwards and she takes in another bite. Next to me, I can feel the fire within my sister grow and grow, even as she struggles to keep it contained.

"Blake," Mom says, turning her eyes to the more familiar guest. "How's the book club?"

Blake swallows her food and replies, "It's going great. We've got some new books coming in from the local library, and that author I was talking about agreed to come in." I'm sure Weiss just dropped her fork, shocked by Blake's sudden speech. Well, compared to how she talks at school, at least.

It also serves as fuel for the white-haired girl, as she leans forward and says, "You actually got in touch with him?"

Blake blinks, and shoots my sister a brief look before she replies, "Uh, yeah. I got a phone call from his agent. Said he would be here in a week or two."

"Really?"

Blake nods.

A broad grin stretches across pale skin. Weiss's eyes twinkle with barely restrained joy, and I get the oddest feeling of dizziness. "I can't believe it! I have so many questions for him! Are we going to get a chance to talk to him or is it a presentation or—"

Watching Weiss talk—as in, actually talking without her being a jerk or oddly quiet—is like watching a baby talk for the first time. You're all set to hate it because it keeps on grating on your ears with a cheese shredder, but then its cries give way to words, and you realise—it's a beautiful voice.

There had been a quality to it since she got here, a certain level of… restraint clamping down on every syllable, preventing her voice from singing its true song. But for that one moment, those chains broke apart, allowing something pure to shine through.

However, Blake looks like she got run over by a rampaging rhino, and whatever fragile bond holding my sister in place _snaps._ "Hey, Ice queen, shut up for five seconds and maybe she'll answer you."

Weiss shifts her eyes to her, energy radiating off those icey rings, but it's nothing compared to my mom's reaction.

"Upstairs, now."

Yang's eyes pull apart in shock, and she twirls around on the chair. "Mom—"

" _Now,_ Yang."

A crushing weight sets down on her shoulders. Casting one last look at Blake, Yang pushed herself from the table and walked upstairs, moving like a prisoner on death row.

"Excuse me," Mom says, and then follows her half-daughter up the stairs.

With both gone, the somewhat broken ice has refrozen into shards, each dangling above our heads. My hands go for the pizza in front of me, even though it tastes like ash, just to have something to do.

Weiss is doing the same.

Mom's voice echoes down the stairwell, her attempts at keeping quiet pointless in such a small house. "What was that?"

"Nothing, Mom, just—"

"That wasn't _nothing,_ Yang."

"We—I've got some bad history with Weiss, alright? I'm sorry, I—"

"I don't care. She's a guest in our house, and I expect her to be treated as such, am I clear?"

"…"

 _"Am I clear?"_

"…Yeah, sure."

"Then go back down there, and apologize."

"It's not that simple—"

"No, but it's a start. Now _go."_

Thumps crash down the stairs, before a weary looking Yang turns around the corner and renters the kitchen. Her shoulders are sagging, and it takes a deep breath for her to turn to Weiss.

"Weiss Schnee, I'm sor—"

"You don't have to apologise."

Yang's mouth continues to flap aimlessly, like a fish out of water. Her eyes grow big, still in disbelief. Not that I can blame her. My own eyes are locked on the white-haired girl, my brain grinding to a halt.

Weiss pushes her chair out and stands up, hands melded together in an attempt to support each other. "In fact, I… I should be apologising." A shaking breath passes through her lips, and her head tilts downwards, eyes sliding shut.

A few, long seconds later, (long enough that my mom returns to the room, looking at both Weiss and Yang like they're glowing green) Weiss raises her head and opens her eyes. Her voice is strong and clear, but her eyes sparkle like melting ice. "I—my c-conduct upstairs was absolutely deplorable, and I—I said things that I should not speak of in polite company, which you and your family have provided in abundance."

She turns to Mom, her throat pushing down any doubt she may have. "The reason your daughter acted as such towards me is because I… I accused her of horrible things. You… you shouldn't punish her for what I've done."

There could be a rampaging gorilla in that room right now and none of us would notice. Every ounce, every milligram of our focus is on the white haired girl standing in front of us, apologizing for something none of us even expected her to admit.

Yang's the first to recover. "T—thank you."

Weiss's lips curve upwards, pulled taut.

Mom's mouth starts moving. "I—um—yeah, okay. No idea what's going on here, but if… well, I guess the pizza's getting cold? Right? We should…"

"Yeah."

"Definitely."

"Quite."

"I'll go get some juice," I call, swinging my legs off the chair.

No one else speaks for the rest of supper.


	13. Weiss-4

**Weiss**

I spend the rest of that—surprisingly well cooked—meal in complete silence, slowly forcing the pizza down my throat. The rest of the room is as silent as an old movie, with the only signs of life being the occasional reach for water or salt. No one wants to be the first after my confession.

My stomach heaves at the thought. I can't blame them. I myself wish for the silence to last forever, until I wither away to nothing. However, as the storm settles outside, and the dishes are cleared, I find that I must.

Still seated at the table, along with Ruby and Blake, (Summer and Yang are carrying plates, refusing my offer of help) I raise my hand and let out a cough. "Excuse me," I say, drawing the stares of the entire room.

Part of me wants the ground to swallow me whole, but I ignore it and continue speaking, "I'm afraid I have to be going. That… that was a wonderful meal, Ms. Rose."

Summer smiles, and sets her carried dishes down on the counter. "Thank you, Weiss. It's been… _wonderful_ to have you." Her voice is strained, but it is not out of anger. Simply exhaustion.

I stand, pushing in my chair behind me. I place my hands in front of me, clasped tightly together. My eyes wander, until they land on the black wreathed form of Blake. I give her a small smile. "I can't wait to meet the author."

Blake replies with her own strained smile, and says, "Uh—yeah. Yeah, really looking forward to that. Don't forget to read the book to our normal spot. We're still going to be doing our normal day."

I nod. "Of course."

My skin turns cold as I twist around to face the blonde, smile faltering in her stare. "Yang, I—I wish to say—I am very—I'm sorry."

A small, haunted smile grows on Yang's lips. She shrugs, spilling golden hair down her front. "Don't worry about it. What's done is done."

A quiet sigh passes from my lips, and I feel a tension I did not know I was holding pass. I turn to my last target, Ruby, and stare into her eyes.

"Ruby, I—thank you, for—"

"Nope."

I grind my teeth together, tightly curling my hands. My eyes slide shut, and I count to three. "Please Ruby, just let me say—"

"Nope."

I'm reaching the boiling point of a rather exhausting evening, and it is all I can do to keep the lid on. "Why not?" I growl.

Ruby smirks, and pushes herself off her chair. She lands with a crouch, and brings herself up. "'Cause I'm coming with," she says, looking like she just took out a monster.

Ice rushes through my veins, and I jerk my head back. "I—I'm sorry?"

Summer lays a hand on Ruby's shoulder; eye's beaming with pride. "That's very nice of you."

Ruby's smirk morphs into a real smile, and she glances up at Summer before turning back to me. "Well, yeah. I mean, it's late, and you walked here by yourself, and…" She looks down, hands clasped behind her back, foot grinding against the floor. "You're kinda… conspicuous."

I am not…

I look down, staring at my clothes. Even in this room, my white dress is a neon sign compared to Summer's outfit, or Ruby's.

I let out a huff.

"She has a point," Summer says. "This isn't a bad part of town, but it's not really safe for someone—especially a young woman—to be outside alone."

The room turns into a sauna. I raise a hand to my neck. "Y-you don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine."

Yang bites out a laugh, lightly shaking her head. "Just go along, Weiss. Trust me; Ruby isn't going to give up anytime soon."

I bite down on my lip, and turn to Ruby. She's staring at me, looking like a hungry kitten pawing at my leg.

My resolve crumbles like a sandcastle at high tide. My head hangs down, and I start silently cursing my weakness. "Fine."

Vibrating with excitement, Ruby lets out a silent squeal. "Thank you thank you thank you—"

Yang lets out another laugh. "Jeez, Rubes. You're just walking her home."

Ruby ignores her sister's comments, instead rushing to the door. "I'll meet you outside!" she calls, before I can say a word.

Summer comes up behind me and drops her hand on my shoulder. I immediately tense up. "Sorry about Ruby, she can be a little…"

Trying not to let my panic show, I take a step away, gingerly lifting her hand off.

"Excitable?" I say, shooting her a smile. My lips straining to pull it off.

She grins back. "A little, yeah." A sigh falls from her lips, and she peeks at the stove. "Well, have a safe trip home."

My head bobs. "I will. Thank you. Have a nice night."

Keeping my hands firmly against my sides, I turn and walk out the door.

* * *

Cool air slams into me, digging into my skin with the force of a chainsaw. The screeches of crickets fill the air, burrowing into my skin.

Ruby's standing at the foot of the stairs, hand buried deep within red pockets. Her eyes are locked on the horizon, dancing between twinkling stars and the humming city.

My breath shaking, I descend the stairs, and clear my throat.

Ruby jumps, and twirls around, looking at me like I caught her in the cookie jar. "Oh! Hey Weiss! You're—you're ready, then? To go?"

I let out a snort. "No, I just thought I would come outside for a moment, go back in, and then go out again."

Ruby's lips curve down, and she places her hand on the back of her neck. "Uh… That doesn't really make sense…"

I sigh. "That would be because it's sarcasm."

Ruby turns as red as her namesake, and looks away. "Oh, uh, yeah! I… I knew that."

Laughter crawls its way out of my chest. My teeth clamp down on my lip, holding it in. I set out at a brisk pace. "Come on, we're not too far."

Ruby catches up with ease. She's not even short of breath, while my calves tingle with exertion. She pops up on her toes, as if she was looking over some wall. "Where exactly are we going?"

I keep moving; my eyes still locked forward. "My home."

I can hear Ruby's eye roll. "Uh… yeah, I guessed that. I kinda meant _where_?"

A sigh tip-toes out of me, and I turn to Ruby. "Town. My father… We live in his shop."

Ruby's eyes sparkle like jewels in the dark as she steps closer to me. "Wow! Really? That's cool!"

For a moment, the chill is replaced by a burning fire, crawling its way through my skin. I look away, but I can't bring myself to move. "Um, well, it—it can be—well, somewhat annoying."

Even as I say those words, I throw curses towards me. What am I thinking? Why am I telling this girl all of this? My breath hitches, my hands curling into tiny balls.

Ruby's eyes narrow, and for some god-forsaken reason, comes even closer. Her arm's brushing up against mine, the rough fabric scraping at my skin. "What wrong with it?"

Mouth curling into a scowl, I turn to tell her off. I stop dead once I see her face, so full of curiosity and... Concern?

"What's wrong?"

Boiling water ripples through my body. I rip my head away, lips glued to each other. "N-nothing! Just—just…" I let out a sigh, and turn back to her. "Why do you care?"

Ruby crosses her arms, rubbing her hoodie against my skin, sending jolts through the limb and up to my heart. "What? I want to know."

"But…" My head leans down, and my legs slow to a crawl. "Why? Why are you here? Why are you still talking to someone that… insulted your sister?"

Ruby shrugs, like I asked her what kind of coffee she wanted, not a serious query. "You apologised."

My head rears back, twisting around to face the girl. "A-and that's it? I say 'Sorry' and you… you just… forgive me?" I press a hand to my chest, feeling my heart bash against my ribs, trying not to throw up. Why do I want to throw up?

We're at a crosswalk now, the lights and buzz of the town proper glittering in front of us. Car's screech through the street, fewer than there would be during the day. Two stop lights are lit up in green above us.

Ruby walks up to the first pole, and taps her fingers on the button. "Well, yeah," she says, not looking at me. "I mean, I… I know that—that it couldn't have easy, and…"

She turns, shining a smile as bright as the moon itself. The tips of her ears burn red, and her next sentence spills from her mouth like a flood. "I—I think it was really brave."

Electricity arcs through my body, freezing me in place. My mouth swings open, before I wrench it back into place. I turn my head away. "I—I was just—I was a—a terrible guest, and I—I had to—"

When had I turned into a blubbering idiot? I slam my jaw shut before I can spew any more idiocy, but the damage is done.

Ruby starts to laugh.

Every inch of her body joins in, vibrating like a leaf caught up in a tornado. She leans against the pole, like she'll fall over if she doesn't.

Against my will, a smile grows on my face. "It's not that funny…"

Holding a hand to her stomach, Ruby turns to me, laughs impressively contained, but still leaking out between breaths. "It's—it's just I—I've never seen anyone try to… to ignore a compliment like that before…"

My smile still firmly attached to my lips, I give an unconvincing huff. "Well, that… that would be because I am very… very humble, yes, and…"

The crosswalk screeches to life, saving myself from my sudden inability to properly speak. Ruby dashes across the road, leaving me to contend with the stares of drivers alone.

On the sidewalk, Ruby's waiting for me. Her body is still shaking with silent laughter, her arms crossed.

Irritation rises within me like a wounded bear, but it's tamed by the bubbles still bouncing through my chest.

As I approach, Ruby lets out a cough, and then sticks her hands into her pockets. "Really, Weiss, I just… I wanted to make sure you knew that—I… I thought it was pretty cool." She looks down, her feet tapping out a small song into the dirt. "I don't… I don't think I could have done that, you know?"

My breath hitches, and I stumble over the edge of the sidewalk. My hands feel tingly as I look at the red-cloaked girl, still scraping at the ground with her shoe. Why is she being like this? What could she possible gain from… from saying these things about me? And…

Why do I want her to say more?

My lips part before I can think, words tumbling free. "You are—you're—I think you're c-cool as well, Ruby."

Oh god, I sound like an idiot. A brain-damaged, needs medication idiot. I slam my eyes shut, expecting the sharp howls of laughter to launch themselves into my back.

Except… nothing happens.

I peel my eyes open, and twist my head to Ruby. There's a smile on her face, but it's small, tempered by doubt and the lingering feeling of unworthiness.

I know it well.

"I'm not all that special," she mumbles, and starts walking. She veers to the edge of the sidewalk, pulling off an impressive balancing act.

Watching Ruby's downcast eyes, and the threat of tears so plainly visible, makes my chest feels empty, as if my heart was torn out and eaten. I stride up to her, match her pace, and grab her shoulder in what's meant to be a comforting gesture. Am I doing this right? My hands a little close to her neck, should I move it?

Ruby's shoulders fall slightly, and I realise she just let out a breath. "I mean, you're the one who's got a great mark in L.A, and I… I'm just failing at it."

There's a weight in my chest that grows heavier as she speaks, a wave of guilt crashing down on me like a capsizing boat. I start reaching back, struggling to remember how to act, what on earth I'm supposed to be doing. Winter was always so much better—

I cut off that thought before it can go any further.

I keep my hand on Ruby's shoulder, the contact turning stiff. My tongue feels foreign as I struggle to speak. "I… I've seen your marks, Ruby. Your science and math is—it's incredible."

She shrugs, but take's a step closer, off the edge of the curb. I let out a long breath, and some of the weight falls off, cracking to the ground like a broken window.

I frown. Why did that one act make me feel so… happy? Relieved?

Ruby shrugs, and takes another step closer to me. She's warm, far warmer than the outright chilly air. "But… I suck at everything else."

I bring my hand down, her increased proximity making it awkward to maintain. "I'm sure it's fine—"

"Thirty-two," Ruby interrupts, holding up one finger. "Fifty-nine, and sixty." Each number gets another finger. "That's my marks. First's L.A, then Social, and the last one's Drama."

My lips curl down. That… that can't be right. "Those… aren't passing marks."

Ruby bites her lip, and lets out a sigh. "Yep," she says. "I know. I mean, I'll be fine on Drama, and I can bring up Social, but L.A? I'm… I'm screwed."

I wish desperately to say something, comfort her. The urge is so great that I forget that I have no idea why. My own marks are at the high eighties or better—with the exception of math—and this won't affect my tutoring, so why do I care?

I hear Ruby let out another weighted breath, and all those thoughts vanish like smoke on the wind. I step in front of her, forcing her to stop before she runs into me. My feet rise upwards, doing their best to raise me above the slightly shorter girl. My hands plant themselves on my hips. "Listen to me, young lady."

Ruby blinks, eyes looking up (Up!) at me. "Uh, haven't I been doing that all night?"

I place a finger onto her lips, feeling her lip gloss—err, spit, smear across my skin. "As… as a thank you for… how… _considerate_ you have been this evening, I… I shall assist you in raising your marks."

Ruby's lips split into a wide grin. Her body starts to vibrate, and she raises her hands and begins to jump. "Oh my god, really?"

I bring my hands to my front, and nod. "Of course. As long as you continue with our math tutoring."

She lets out a squeal, and nods so rapidly I fear her head may fly off. "You're amazing, Weiss!" she squeaks, and then jumps up to pull me into a hug.

Time slows. Brain function fails as her arms touch my skin, rebooting into flames as her cheek connects with my shoulder. My limbs lock up, all communication completely severed. My eyes are the only body part still functioning, and they swivel to her. My breath pounds in my ear like artillery shells.

Ruby Rose is… is hugging me. Her hands are on my skin, and I can feel her chest—larger than mine, I note with a small flush of irritation—pushing against mine. There's a softness, under which lies a surprisingly lithe form. I can feel her muscles, warm, warmer than anything I've felt that doesn't burn, push against my skin. Suddenly, my skinny, pampered frame feels almost… pathetic, despite the work I've done to achieve it.

I should consider it lucky Ruby didn't topple me over. Instead, I fall forwards, allowing her to land before I crashed into the ground. She pulls away, skin so red I could use it as a stop sign, and brushes a hand past her ear. "Uh… yeah, thank… you?"

I swallow, and let out a long breath. My mouth refuses to cooperate as I speak. "Y-yes, you are—you are very welcome."

My hands shaking, I jab my thumb behind us. "We should—we should keep moving b-before it grows any later than it—it is."

Ruby looks away, and jams her hands into her pockets. "Uh, y-yeah, that… We should, yep. I, uh… I'll let you lead? The way, I mean?"

I nod. "Yes, that… that sounds good."

We walk.

In silence, thank god. I don't think I could talk to a mute at that point.

My skin is… it's tingling. Every nerve is burning, and I'm thankful for the cool air, nipping at the flames that threaten to burst from my pores.

Why did I react like that? She didn't do anything special; it was… it was simply a hug. People do it all the time, completely platonically. It didn't mean anything. Besides, Ruby was a very… expressive girl. This was probably just her way of saying thanks. Friends hug all the time, after all.

I blink. When did Ruby become a friend?

…My first friend.

* * *

The rest of the walk passes in what should be an awkward silence, but it becomes oddly comfortable as we meander through the town streets. Ruby never speaks, but I can see her eyes light up as we pass some of the more… unique stores. She either can't or doesn't bother with hiding any of her excitement, and I have a feeling it's only the dark alleys and odd noises emanating from them that keeps her by my side.

My father's store comes up. It's a squat; two story building, not one he would ever consider buying today. It was the first though, and it holds a special place in his heart because of that. And perhaps mine, as well, on the rare days it's something more than a store.

"Wow," Ruby breathes, breaking the silence that's ensnared us since our… hug. Her eyes land on the sign pasted above the window, and she turns to me with a beaming smile on her face. "You didn't tell me it was a diamond shop!"

Her excitement is as contagious as the flu, and before long, I'm grinning right along with her. I run a hand along the door frame. "Well, yes. It's the Schnee _Diamond_ Company, after all."

Ruby tilts her head. "Huh. Thought it was Schnee Dust Company."

I give her a scathing look. "Why on earth would we sell dust? Who would want to buy that?"

Ruby looks down, turning red again. I'm starting to wonder if she has a condition. "Maybe really dedicated vacuum salesmen?

A sigh tumbles from my lips, and I punch in the doors security code. "I'll call a cab for you."

"Oh, thanks…" she says, trailing off as if she has something else to say. "Um… before you go…"

I turn to her, hand still planted firmly on the door. "Yes, Ruby?"

She raises her head, hand against her neck as if she's bracing it. "Uh… well, I was just wondering if… you wanted to… you know…"

I shake my head, letting out a snort. "No, Ruby, I cannot read minds. Please tell me what you want."

She closes her eyes and takes in a breath. Her words spill out like a gushing juice box. "I was just… wondering if you wanted to hang out tomorrow."

"Hang… out?" I repeat. I know what the words mean, of course. I have some understanding of slang, but it's that meaning, what she wants from me, that shuts down my heart and freezes my limbs. "As in, spend time together?"

"Um, yeah, that's what I meant."

My grip tightens on the door, the metal groaning under the pressure. "I—we barely know each other, Ruby, and—"

She moves her hand lower, her eyes filling with a spark of flame. "That's kinda why I want to go. I mean, you're helping me out with all the school stuff and… I really don't _know_ you all that well."

Then she smiles, and takes a single step forward. "So… yeah?"

My first instinct is to say no, to keep this r—friendship within boundaries I'm comfortable with. But the thought of spending more time with Ruby, not in some forced, you help me and I help you manner, is… oddly appealing. I don't know much about her, and that's… that's a problem.

"Okay," I agree. "What will we be doing?"

A nervous giggle escapes from Ruby's lips, and her eyes dart away. "Oh, um, right! I… I didn't think about that. Uh… how about you meet me at the track field after school, and… I'll think of something by then, alright?"

I raise my hand to my forehead, laughs flying under an exasperated sigh. "Fine, Ruby. I'll see you there."

She pumps her fist, a gesture I'm sure she copied from her sister. "Great! Just one thing, could you wear something a little… I don't know, more… casual?"

The request throws me, but I try not to let it show. "Um, yes. I—Not a problem. I-I can do that."

Her lips curl upwards, revealing that same moon smile. "Thanks Weiss."

A similar expression grows on my skin, as warm milk rushes through my veins. "You are quite welcome."

We both stand there for a moment, before I realise that she has no way home. And that I forgot that.

I slap my forehead. "Right! The cab! I'll—I'll get right on that." I jerk my free hand towards the door, punching in the security code for the second time.

Ruby sticks her hands in her pocket, and shoots a glance at the street. "So… should I just wait out here?"

I give her a sympathetic frown. "Unfortunately, yes. Father's quite… reluctant to let strangers into the store after dark. Sorry."

She shrugs. "It's fine. Not your fault."

My frown morphs into a grateful grin. It feels good, great really, but also exhausting. I cannot remember the last time I smiled this much.

I throw the door open, and step into the cold and dark building. High quality jewels capture the light from outside and shoot it towards the walls, creating the briefest light show before the door swings shut. I've always loved how that happens, a brief, beautiful picture, and it's all mine. I'm the only one who ever gets to see it. I sometimes consider taking a picture of it, but I fear it would lose some of the magic.

It's dark, obviously, but I know the shop so well that I can effortlessly maneuver through the glass displays and to the back, where a single phone hangs on the wall. I pull it off, and tap in the cab's phone number.

A bleary young woman answers. "Hello?"

I start tapping my foot. "Yes, hi. I'd like to order a cab."

She lets out a yawn, and then I hear papers shuffled. "Not a problem. Where you at?"

"The Schnee Diamond building, downtown."

Scratches rattle the phone, and I hear the pen drop. "Got it sweetheart, car should be there in ten minutes."

I should be happy about the fast service, but instead I feel saddened. "Thank you," I say, and then hang up the phone.

When I step outside again, I see Ruby sitting on the curb, tossing pebbles into a drain on the other side of the street. Her head jerks up when she hears me, and she stands, hands folding behind her head. "Hey Weiss!"

My lips rise again. Is it possible to over-exert facial muscles? "Hello Ruby. Your cab will be here shortly."

Her cheer falters, as does her body as it slumps. "Oh, that's… that's good."

"Quite."

"So… See you tomorrow?"

I nod, my smile turning forced. "After track, correct?"

She chuckles. "That's right, yeah. Track. Something casual, like… I don't know; a t-shirt or something."

The only clothing I own are all dresses, but there must be a store nearby that will be open in the morning. "I will make sure to have the appropriate attire."

She lets out another smile, just as a yellow car pulls up behind her. A horn honks, and then she's scowling. Not at me, at the driver.

A sight falls out of her lips, and she turns back to me. "Well, see you tomorrow Weiss."

"Of course."

Ruby steps into the car, slamming the door shut behind her. I pull off my shoe, ripping free a few twenties from its sole, and hand them to the driver, who barely blinks at the oddity.

I suppose he's seen far worse at this time of night.

Ruby gives me a wave as the car speeds off, one that I find myself returning.

Well, that was…

Interesting, to say the least.

A yawn rips itself from my throat, and I'm suddenly struck by just how _tired_ I am. As if Ruby pulled all of my energy away with her when she went.

I fumble my way into the shop, up the stairs, and through the small apartment until I reach my room. Without bothering to remove my shoes or dress, I fall onto the bed, and feel sleep curl it's tendrils around my brain.

The last thought on my mind is Ruby's grinning face, and the promise I made.


	14. Yang-4

Yang

After Weiss leaves, I don't see her again until the next day, after school. Blake forgot some of her books, so I gallantly decided to fulfill my ancient girlfriend duty and retrieve them.

Of course, I brought Bumblebee, because I know when Blake says _books,_ she means, _library_.

The airs warm, and the city's quiet, so it doesn't take me long to zip over to the school. I roll up right against the sidewalk, lean my bike off to the side, and step off. A cool breeze brushes against my now uncovered head, a welcome sensation after the ride over.

Birds chirp out their colourful songs as I stride across the sidewalk. The school resembles an n from where I'm standing, two long arms stretching off from a narrow body. I'm right in the middle of the arms, heading towards the body.

If I remember correctly, Blake's locker is near the entrance of the school, so it won't take me long to find it. After all, I've done this before. Many, many times.

However, as I'm entering the building, I nearly run into a giant cloud of white. I jump back and dodge to the right, crashing my shoulder into the wall. Its rough surface is oddly cool to the touch.

My obstacle raises her head, revealing a very annoyed looking Weiss. Without a dress. That doesn't sound that notable, but every single time I've ever seen her she wore a dress. Not always a fancy dress, sometimes it was as simple as the white get-up she had yesterday. Now she's got a blue shirt and jeans, and…

She… doesn't look that bad.

Not that I'm _staring,_ but her clothes are just a _tiny_ bit too tight. I'd still say they fit, but… well, let's just hope she doesn't grow anymore. T

Weiss doesn't seem to recognise me, and starts spitting out a furious response to our near collision, "What do you think you're—"

I fight a growing growl, instead raising a hand as a peace gesture. "Slow down Snow queen, it's me."

I wish I had a camera at that moment, because Weiss's face shifts so quickly she must have pulled something. "O-oh, right. I…" She pulls in a breath and sticks out her hand. "Yang, wasn't it?"

I give said hand an odd look before grabbing it. It's cold, a little clammy, and feels way too official for a chance meeting at school. "Um, yep. That's my name. Don't wear it out."

My attempt at humor falls flatter than her lips, although after a moment they do curve upwards. "Ruby's sister. And…"

She drops her hands and lets out a sigh. "May I apologise again for what I said last night?"

I rub my hand against my shirt as discreetly as I can, and cross my arms. "Don't worry about it."

Weiss nods. She looks off to the side, exposing something on her face. I can't get a close look before she looks back. "Well, I suppose I should be going."

I lean against the wall, and let a small smirk slink out. "Got a hot date to get to or something? Someone promise to melt your legs out from under you?"

Now Weiss's scowling like a banshee. Her face turns bright red, making her look like a Christmas light after a blizzard. "For your information," she spits, clearly wishing that she had something fierier to use. "I am going—I mean, I am—I h-have an activity planned for—w-with your sister." She grimaces, aware of how jumbled her words came out.

I, meanwhile, go from inwardly laughing at her stutter to connecting _sister_ with _activity._ I take a step forward, increasing the gap between the top of her head and my own, and hold up a hand. "Wait, like, a not-studying thing?"

Weiss rolls her eyes, like I just noted that fire was hot, and brushes past me. "Yes, a "not-study" activity. Now if you'll excuse me…"

I grab her arm, hard enough to earn a startled yelp and a serious wince. I find I don't really care. "Hold up, what activity?" Why is this the first I've heard of it, I want to ask, but I really don't want another eye roll.

Weiss scowls harder, and wrenches her arm away. She rubs at the now red skin. "I don't know. Ruby hasn't told me yet."

Oh wonderful. Guess that explains the whole not telling me thing. Or mom. Or dad, for that matter. Heck, Ruby didn't mention anything about Weiss the previous day, not even when she was driven home in a taxi.

Which made no sense. I mean, she didn't get a taxi for herself, why would she get one for Ruby. Not that it was a bad thing, even with the taxi Ruby got home pretty late last night, but…

Reality intrudes on my thoughts with all the grace of a monster truck. Weiss's mouth is flapping away, spewing out words. "—and I have to meet her after her track, which will end soon, so I should go _now—"_

She moves to walk away, but I'm not one of the best lacrosse players in the school for nothing. It's child's play to jump in front of her.

Weiss tilts her head up, and scowls so hard I can see teeth. "You're in my way," she growls, like a pampered Chihuahua yipping at a bloodhound.

I keep my face as impassive as I can, while I dip my voice in enough sugar to kill a bear. "Oh, I'm _sorry,_ I didn't realise you'd be in such a rush to see her. You know, considering you accused her big sister of… how'd you put it? Studying under desks?"

Weiss's entire act deflates. Her shoulders slump, her chest shrinks, and let she lets out a long breath. "I _said_ I was sorry."

"You still did it, though," I mutter. I look down at the cracked pavement, watching an ant scurry by.

"…I know."

A moment passes.

I take in a breath, and stare into Weiss's eyes. "Look, it's not that I don't want you and Ruby to be friends or anything, and I get that you don't like what you did, it's just…" A groan falls from lips, hits the ground, and shrivels in the sunlight. "Ruby's my sister. She's part of my family, and, no offense, you're not."

Weiss's eyes cloud with something dark. When she speaks, I can feel something boiling under the surface, "So you worry."

I wait for a moment, expecting her to say more. "Uh, yeah. Of course I do. Part of the job."

Weiss's shoulders lock up. Whatever flash I saw in her eyes vanishes, replaced by a dull stare. "Indeed."

…There's something here I'm not getting, but I can tell she doesn't want to share. It's not really my place anyways. I'm sure Rubes will drag it out of her at some point.

Weiss turns those dead eyes on me. It's… startling. Somewhat like looking at a dead body. Her lips move, but I swear the rest of her face remains perfectly, statue still. "I promise you, I have no ill intentions towards your sister."

…I'm sure I could make some wonderful puns out of that, but it's _not_ the right time.

I shake my head. "That's not it. Ruby… she doesn't have many friends, okay? Never has. But the one's she does make?" I take a step towards Weiss, watching as her eyes regain some life. "Sometimes she… forgets about herself. Makes their problems, their goals _her_ problems, her goals."

Weiss raises a brow. There's a thin line through it, just barely visible against her pale skin. "That sounds somewhat… unhealthy."

Quirking my head, I rewind through what I just said and wince. "Um, yeah, no kidding. I'm making it sound like a mental condition." I back off, raising a hand to my forehead. Sweat sticks to my palm. "Look, point is, she's a very nice girl, and if you screw with her, I'll break you in two. Then my parents, who used to be spec ops agents, will have a go. We clear?"

I don't enjoy the gulp of fear Weiss gives. Not a bit. In fact, I dislike it so much, I don't even think about the camera I have at home, just begging me to take a picture.

Not even a little.

Weiss recomposes herself, and stares at me with… not quite a glare, but something with the same intensity. "I understand."

"Uh… cool." I throw my thumb towards the school. "Well, I got to grab some books, so… I guess I'll see you at my house later?"

"Most likely."

Again, I feel like somethings not quite right here. Still, I actually do have to grab those books before the school closes for good. So I give Weiss a final goodbye, and then turn back towards the school.

She doesn't say anything in reply.


	15. Ruby-4

**RUBY**

By the time track is done, and I'm showered, changed, and out the door, Weiss is standing by the track loops, staring into the distance like she's stargazing. Except in the day. She hasn't seen me yet, and I don't want to call out yet, because I'm too busy staring at her.

Her white dress is gone, replaced by a shirt that blends into the sky. Her hair, still bound as it was yesterday, glimmered like an early-morning cloud, light sparkling off its surface.

My lips split into a wide grin. Dropping to the ground, I summon all my ninjaness, and creep forward. Each step brushes against the earth as quietly as a leaf, my whole body primed for maximum stealth.

I'm nearly two feet away when Weiss turns around, staring at me like I've sprouted horns. "What are you doing?"

"Ninja hug!" I yell, jumping forward and wrapping my arms around Weiss. Her shirt brushes against my skin like kitten fur, so soft, warm, and huggable. I nearly fall asleep right there, which would be bad. Nobody likes friends that fall asleep on them.

At least, that's what Yang says, even though Blake falls asleep on her all the time.

Weiss, on the other hand, reacts like I've splashed her with cold water. Her muscles freeze, and her breaths grow short and rapid. Her head turns, as slow as a giant gear, and glares at me.

"Ruby," Weiss says, her voice calm and measured, but bristling with anger. "Why are you… _touching_ me?"

"Uh… Ninja hug?"

Weiss lets out a sigh. I can feel the vibrations in her chest, which isn't really helping with the whole not falling asleep on my new friend thing. Her arms pull at my shirt, and then I'm pushed away, hard enough that I nearly lose my balance.

"Sorry," Weiss says, although she sounds distracted. Her eyes are on me, but they weren't meeting mine. "I… What are we doing?"

I bring one hand to the back of my neck and the other to my pocket. "Oh, right! Uh… yeah, I thought we could maybe… try the arcade? I mean, there's one at the mall, and it's pretty cool, so…"

Weiss lets out another sigh, (She gets a lot of practice, doesn't she?) but locks her gaze with my own. "The arcade is somewhat… juvenile, is it not?"

I'm thankful for the running I did earlier, since it sorta masks my reddening skin. I just have to play this cool. Say something snazzy.

"Uh… I like it?"

Nailed it.

Weiss flicks her eyes in a circle, but there's a definite smile growing, like a little sapling that got its first drink of water. "Of course you do," she says, before dusting off her pants and wrapping her arms tightly around her chest. "Well, let's go then."

I blink, partially because of what she just said, and partially because a drop of sweat just fell into my eye. "O-okay, sure. It's… just a few blocks away, so… yeah. Walking time!"

Weiss narrows her eyes, and glances down at my legs. "You… want to walk?"

My hands jam themselves into my pocket, and I look at a very interesting blade of grass. Split in two and everything. I speak, my voice growing quieter and quieter, until I'm whispering. "Um, well, yeah? I mean, it's not that far, and I can't drive…"

Weiss stares at me, like I said I was going to sprout wings. "I guessed that."

"Right, yeah, of course you did, I mean… it's kinda obvious, isn't it?" I mumble, shifting my eyes toward the ground. The dirt's interesting right now, still chewed up by all the runners. It's a little muddy too, which is going to stain Weiss's shoes. And mine, but they're black, so you can't tell.

"Well," Weiss says, striding past. "I suppose we should start moving, shouldn't we?"

I whip my head back, and spend a moment gaping at her, air whistling through my teeth. When my brain reboots, I rush after her. "O—oh, right! Uh, yeah! It's just down the block and to the right and—"

Weiss cuts me off. "I've been there before."

I try to shut up, buy my mouth doesn't quite get the message, so it's still moving when I continue, "O-of course you have! Makes sense, you… you live here and there's not a ton of malls in town, so…"

Weiss groans, and pinches her nose. I barely make out a few words that Mom would _kill_ me if I said them, and she turns to me with a deadly glare. "You do understand that there is such a thing as a comfortable silence, correct?"

My cheeks flush with heat, but it's not entirely embarrassment. I stomp ahead of her, jump up to the sidewalk, and turn. Now I'm tall enough to meet her eyes, shimmering with annoyance.

"What's going on?" I ask. Meeting her eyes is hard, because her gaze is still intense, and now's she's focusing it all on me. I feel like an ant under a magnifying glass. Still, I preserve.

Weiss crosses her arms, and tilts her head down. A few stray strands of hair float down, brushing against her forehead. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know what I mean, Weiss."

"I assure you, Ruby, I am not lying."

"Ughhh!" I groan, looking upwards into the sky. I search the blue canvas for answers, but it doesn't give me any.

Stupid sky.

Feeling slightly calmer, I bring my head down to stare at Weiss, who is trying to break the record for longest glare.

"Look," I say, jamming my hands into my pockets. "I don't know what's changed since last night, but… do you actually want to go to the arcade, or… what's going on?"

Weiss lets out a sigh, one that I recognise. I'm calling it Weiss sigh #1, or the "I-don't-want-to-talk-but-you're-not-giving-me-a-choice" sigh. (She sighs a lot) "I… I want to go, it's just…Nothing, it's nothing, really. I am simply tired, that's all."

I squint my eyes, because even I, with my total lack of friends, can tell that there's something… wrong with that sentence, like when Yang told me that Blake had lots of teddy bears, and she was used to holding something during the night. Without clothes on. While covered in sweat. (Don't ask. Please don't. I don't want to know)

Just like that time, I choose to let it go, knowing that I won't get an actual answer unless I pry it out with a word crowbar. So instead, I give a decent imitation of a Weiss sigh, and turn around.

"Come on," I say, speeding up. "We've only got an hour before I promised my mom I'd be home."

Weiss doesn't say anything, instead falling into step behind me like a duckling following its mother. It's feels weird, leading her around like this, but she clearly doesn't want to change it. I'm fast, I know that, but it wouldn't be hard for her to overtake me, if that's what she wanted.

So why is she slowing down?


	16. Weiss-5

**Weiss**

The pavement is cold and hard underneath my feet, sending shockwaves through my legs. I can smell the rich, earthy scent of freshly brewed coffee from a store to our right. Customers flood out, all wearing identical expressions of exhaustion. Most head deeper into the city, but a few swerve left, and enter the same mall Ruby and I are about to enter.

One kindly gentleman, wearing a t-shirt proudly displaying the local university's name and logo, holds the door open while we enter. Ruby shoots him a quick thank you, but I barely notice him. My thoughts remain firmly focused on said girl, pulling a hand from the depths of her hoodie.

She gestures towards a far off ATM. "I'm going to go get some money, so… can you wait here? J-just for a minute! I won't be long—you know, unless the machine breaks down or—"

I bring up a hand, silencing her before she goes any further. "I'll be fine. Go."

Ruby's lips split in a small grin, and she eagerly runs towards the ATM. Only a small family block her path. The mall is quiet during this time of day, with most students still recovering from school or waiting until the weekend. It will become noisy later, but for now, I can think clearly.

A nearby bench provides an excellent opportunity to rest my legs. The metal is coated with a peeling green pain, flecks or red rust peeking through the green canopy. I do not dare touch it with any exposed skin. Even with the layer of denim provided by my clothing, I can feel the items stuck to its surface.

A shout rises up from the ATM, drawing my eyes to a rather irate Ruby. She slams a hand against the metal, as if she could somehow beat the money out. A whimper escapes from her throat, before she slammed her head against the keypad. A small slip of paper pops out, gently landing on her hair.

The urge to walk over and pull her into a hug rises like an erupting volcano. My hands grab the underside of the bench, completely ignorant of the dirt and grime.

Why does this girl keep _doing_ this to me?

It's clearly not a big deal, as within moments Ruby's back at it again, typing in commands and pulling coins from a cup.

I need to pull myself together. Just because some girl forgives my mistakes and treats me like a friend does not mean I can… _lose_ every ounce of self-control.

I am a Schnee.

A Schnee is _better_ than that.

Ruby crawls back to the bench. Her hood dangles against her back like a dog's tail after misbehaving. "Uh… sorry about the wait," she says as her hand seeks refuge behind her neck. "So… I got the money now, and… yeah. Arcades pretty close."

I crack my lips, and let the air-conditioned air wash over my teeth, and settle deep within lungs.

Control, Weiss. Control.

I stand, and gesture towards the hall. "Very well, lead the way."

* * *

To be honest, I have never actually been inside an arcade before. They always struck me as too loud, too dirty, too many screens. Nonetheless, my first impression of "The Meteor" fits every mental image I had. Cliché space theme, low lighting, obnoxious music, and enough spilt popcorn to feed a ravenous toddler. Upon entering, it's all I can do not to gag.

Ruby, however, seems invigorated by this mess, tugging on my arm in more directions than a compass. Her lips seem permanently split in a wide, infectious grin. Something catches her eye, and she starts pulling me across the room.

"I think you'll like this one," she promises.

The game in question is in some tacky box labeled, "Undead Nightmare: The reawakening." Across the side and front is green grass against a purple sky, with a sickly green hand punching through the ground. Two guns, both rifles, hang against the side. One's blue, the other pink.

Ruby picks up the blue one and sets it against her shoulder, lining up the sight with a downright _professional_ stance. She lowers the gun and regards me with a critical eye. "You ever fired one of these before?"

It takes me a moment to realise she's not talking about actual rifles, but the answer is still the same. "No, not… no."

Ruby smirks, and leans against the cabinet. The _way_ her lips curve and her hip juts out makes her look nearly identical to her sister. Considering the… _vast_ difference in their bodies, it's… a tad disconcerting. "Oh? Not once?"

I shake my head and try to banish that image from my head. "I—I am not much of… a gamer, really. This… this will be my first time."

Why on Earth did I phrase it like that?

Ruby, bless her innocent young heart, continues straight past my odd word choice. She crouches down, and slots a few coins into the machine. "It's real simple. Just grab the gun, and aim it at the zombies head. Pull the trigger, then boom."

"Ah," I say, following her instructions. "And… why are we shooting zombies?"

…There is no way to say that word with dignity, is there?

Ruby lowers her rifle, (ruining my attempt to copy her stance) and stares blankly at the screen. "Uh… because… we get points?"

"And… why do we care about the points?"

Ruby's face contorts into that of a young child being asked why they don't like broccoli. "Because… I don't know. It shows how good we did."

It is a sufficient explanation, but the last word catches my interest. "We?"

"Well, yeah. It's a two-player game." Ruby narrows her eyes at me, her shoulders bracing against an impact. "Is that… okay?"

Guilt flashes through me like a surge of electricity. "Of course," I say quickly, bringing the rifle up to my shoulder. The plastic feels wonderfully cool, and I rest my cheek against the stock. "It won't be a problem at all."

The tension seeps out of Ruby's frame like melting butter. She brings her rifle up with far more confidence than I, and pulls the trigger.

The large screen in front of us flashes white. A heavily distorted yawn bellows out from hidden speakers, and a hand identical to that of the artwork shoots upwards.

The screen turns dark again. White, blocky text scrolls across the screen while the speakers growl. I try to read it, but before I can, Ruby lets out an impatient grunt, and shoots past the text.

The corners of my mouth edge downwards. "Are we not supposed to read that?"

A small giggle escapes Ruby's lips. "Nah, it's just a bunch of background text. For the story. Don't really need any of it to play."

"I might have _enjoyed_ reading it."

Ruby raises a brow. "I… seriously doubt it."

Any further conversation is cut off by a sudden scream. My gun, lowered during my short talk with Ruby, is hastily raised, and pointed towards the screen. A green, rotting, and disturbingly blocky zombie shambles towards us, arms outstretched like a overly enthusiastic mascot.

Considering the fake gun in my hand, it does not take a massive leap to realise what I need to do. I call back on my limited experience with firearms, bracing the stock against my shoulder, aiming the barrel towards the creatures head, taking in a breath—

BANG!

—Whilst Ruby shoots the zombie, earning a series of clicks as a virtual shell drops from her gun. Three more zombies appear behind the first. Ruby barely pauses before she slaughters them all, leaving me decidedly slack-jawed.

"H-how… how did you…?"

Ruby flashes me a cocky grin, and twirls her rifle upwards. "I… know a few tricks." Her voice sounds different, filled with a… a confidence that it usually lacks. The only other time she sounded like this was last night, during our studying session.

Ruby winks. "Still think it's 'juvenile?'"

Something within my heart _burns_ with her words, a warm and… welcoming heat that spreads through my body. Suddenly I don't care about my plan. I don't care about control.

All I care about is wiping that smug grin off her face.

I mime pulling a bolt back, relishing in Ruby's look of surprise.

"You. Are. On."

* * *

It turns out that no amount of declarations or determination can substitute whatever experience Ruby has.

The game never deviates from the initial pattern. We are apparently crawling through an abandoned house. (While tripping over weaponry, because of course there's military grade machine guns lying in the hallways) Zombies show up, we—and by that, I mean Ruby—knock them down. Rinse. Repeat. I do my best, obviously, but I might as well be asleep for all the good it does.

Ruby is, and I say this without an ounce of sarcasm, an expert. Not only does she handle the gun like an old pro, but she clearly knows every single room like it's her own house. Before I can react to the appearance of another green blob, there's a bang, a flash of blood, and then—poof. Twenty points. The points are given to both of us, of course, so we both ignore them.

Despite my… abysmal failure, the game never feels like a chore. Ruby laughs at each bullet I send towards a foe she already killed, and before long, I'm laughing with her. I am, of course, far quieter, to the point where my chuckles become lost in the cacophony surrounding us. Ruby notices, which is okay, because she is the only person who should.

The game ends in what feels like minutes, but a quick glance towards the clock shows me took over an hour.

Beads of sweat run down Ruby's forehead as she shoves her gun into its metal holster. She raises an arm to wipe it away, but quits halfway. "That… that was a little more intense than I'd thought it'd be."

I put my gun away, noting the tiredness etched within my muscles. "I'm not surprised, you were… impressive." The compliment falls easily from my lips. Far, far too easily. I smash my mouth shut, intent of keeping it closed for the rest of the night—

Then Ruby smiles, and my resolve cracks like a rotten egg. "Thanks. You weren't so bad yourself."

A disbelieving snort falls from lips. "Nonsense. I was a _horrible_ shot." A certain moment where I somehow managed to hit a deer on a different game springs mind.

That was… interesting.

Ruby tries to banish the thought from the air, but I see the hints of a smile forming on the corners of her lips. I wonder why she even bothers to hold it back. I have seen her smile before. Many times, in fact. To the point where I can recognise some of her teeth on sight.

"Y—you really weren't," Ruby continues, cheeks darkening into her namesake. "I mean, you were just bad—I mean, not as good—less trained—my dad taught me how to shoot."

Now it's my turn to raise a brow, as I lean against the machine. "Your father? The… ex-special forces father?"

Ruby's pupils widen in surprise. She shuffles back, no more than a quarter of an inch. "Uh, y—yeah. Him. How did you know…?"

I briefly consider hiding Yang's involvement in her knowledge, but I cannot see any reason why. It is not as if it is some large secret. "Yang told me."

Ruby's eyes widen even further, if that was possible, before they shrink to tiny pinpricks. She stomps a foot into the game machine. "Ugh! She—she did that again?"

Now it's my turn to be surprised. "Again?"

Ruby barely seems to hear me, too caught up in her mutterings. Her eyes have turned glassy. They are so focused on the floor; I'm amazed it hasn't caught on fire yet. "It's not like she didn't nearly scare off Jaune last time, no, now she's got to ruin this too. Of course she does…"

"What on earth on you jabbering on about now?"

Ruby turns to face me, eyes tight with coiled rage. "She had a talk with you, didn't she?"

"…There is no safe answer to this question, is there?"

"Weiss!"

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling like I'm trying to handle a misbehaving puppy. "Fine. Yes, she talked to me."

Ruby's shoulders slump like wet sand. Her eyes fall to the floor, and her hand braces her forehead before she can collapse anymore.

I cross my arms, for once feeling very, very tall. I am not sure I like it. "What exactly is so important about that?"

Ruby lets out a strangled sigh, and brings a hand to her hips. "It's just… she always does this. She gets on my case about not having friends, and then she gets all—all super protective and stuff! It's… it's annoying."

 _It sounds wonderful,_ I think, but instead I say, "Yes, it does sound… stifling."

I notice a small group peeking in the corner of my eyes. Roughly my age. Probably from the same school we left.

Icy panic strikes through my heart. I grasp Ruby's hand in my own, decorum forgotten. Her skin is… soft, despite, or perhaps because of the abuse heaped upon them, like sanded wood.

"Um, Weiss?" Ruby asks, vitriol thrown aside in favour of concern. "What's going on?"

It's then that I realise my heart is trying to leap out of my chest, and is surely sending shockwaves through my veins. I pull away from Ruby, desperately attempting to hide my nerves. "N-nothing! I—I believe we… should move. So that other people can enjoy this wonderful… device."

It sounds weak to my ears, and Ruby _knows_ it. She takes a glance at the non-existent line. "There's… no one here, Weiss."

…Is this dolt that dense? I let an aggravated sigh seep through my lips, hand rising to cover my eyes before I _murder_ her. "I mean, this conversation should not be held in _public."_

Ruby's eyes narrow in confusion.

…God help me, she is that dense.

"Why… not?"

Another sigh falls from my lips, filled with enough annoyance to kill any sane individual. "It is not… _proper."_

Ruby sticks her hands into her pocket, and glares at me hard enough to prove that it is not a gesture of submission. "Why not? We're just talking."

"Because it isn't."

"Says who?"

"Says… says everyone, Ruby!" A groan bursts from my lips, as deep throated as the zombies we fought earlier. "Some things are just not _done."_

"But that doesn't make any…" Ruby trails off, as… _something_ flickers in her eyes, before they settle onto understanding. "Fine, whatever. We should get studying anyways."

Ruby turns away, shoulders tightly coiled, ready to strike at any time.

"Finally," I mutter, even though I know it to be in spite. Truth be told, I cannot summon an ounce of happiness at our departure, as I know I have mucked up what had otherwise been an enjoyable evening.

…Which means I failed my earlier objectives.

Oh, _wonderful._

Father would tan my hide if he could see me now, following a girl two years my younger out of an arcade. It would be justified. Losing control of emotions in public, encroaching on her personal space, (even though it was simply paying back what she had done to me). That is simply not what a Schnee does.

Ruby pauses against the entrance. She turns her head around and reveals her lips, still curled into a feral snarl.

"You know," she begins, her voice lower and more threatening than I have ever heard it. "I don't _get_ you, Weiss. I try to be nice, I try to be your friend, but… but then this happens. You just… close up, and…"

"What?" I snarl.

Ruby's eyes harden into arrow points. "A jerk," she finishes. Without another word, she turns and rips off her shoe. I do not have time to ask what she is doing before she bangs it against the wall, dislodging a small stone.

"Sorry," she says, not sounding sorry at all. (Not that I can blame her) "I—This thing's been annoying me all day."

The stone, small, grey, and round, rolls out into the hall, bouncing against the cement until it comes to rest under the foot of a rather familiar gentleman.

A rather familiar gentleman carrying a large quantity of purple iced beverage, and looking quite unsteady on his feet.

The next moment passes in a trance. Ruby's eyes flicker to the stone and then to the man, but she cannot move fast enough. She cannot do a thing to stop the stone from rolling under his foot, sending it flying into the air. She cannot stop his armload of drinks from launching outwards.

She cannot stop the purple ice, crashing into me, my brand-new shirt and pants, and the rest of the floor.

Shock and electricity course through my skin as the cold seeps in. Drops fall to the ground. I spread my arms, attempting to access the damage.

The clothes will be ruined, there's no doubt about that. Purple is a colour that refuses to come out, no matter how hard you scrub. So, unless I plan on wearing purple, (ha) these clothes are ruined.

"Oh perfect."


	17. Ruby-5

**Ruby**

Weiss doesn't even look at me as she stomps off towards the washroom. She just keeps her head down, ignoring the guy saying, "Sorry," about a thousand times behind her, while I stand there, shoe still swinging from my hand.

I don't know that much about purple frozen liquid stuff, but I do know stains. Judging from mom's old gripes with grapes, I have a feeling that Weiss's shirt just got ruined.

Anger drains out, letting the heavy weight of guilt settle into my stomach. I slip my shoe on as fast as I can, hopping across the arcade like a rabbit red riding hood. The still growing crowd returns to whatever it was they were doing. I have to worm my way through a few groups just to reach where I last saw Weiss.

Which turns out to be the bathroom. Which means we should be alone, right?

I push open the door with a soft grunt, letting it swing shut behind me. There's a wall covered in green tiles between me and the rest of the bathroom, meaning that I hear Weiss before I see her. A tap's on, and she's spitting out soft growls in tune with frantic scrubbing.

Taking advantage of every game of Hide and Seek I've ever played, I slowly push my back against the wall, swallowing down the sudden lump that appears in my throat. She's right there, _right_ there.

What do I say?

 _I'm so sorry Weiss, I didn't mean to—_

 _I didn't mean to ruin your—_

 _Is your shirt—?_

 _Weiss, I'm sorry._

It's hard to breathe. It's just a few words, but the idea of actually speaking feels like climbing a mountain.

I just… I just have to do it. It's not really that big of a deal, right? I mean, I'm the reason her shirt's ruined, and I kinda yelled at her a little bit, but I'm just saying that I'm sorry. I can do this, I can do this…

Slowly, I push myself around the corner of the wall. More green tiles cover every inch of space not taken up by a toilet stall or sink. Said stalls stretch out at my right, with a bank of mirror's reflecting each scribbled message at the left.

Underneath one of these mirrors, washing a dirty shirt in a formally white sink, is Weiss.

With her shirt in her hands.

As in, not on her.

"I—Gaaaaaah!"

Weiss whips her head towards me, eyes growing into giant Frisbees. She grabs the still soaking wet shirt from the sink and brings it to her chest. "R-ruby!"

I throw myself behind the wall again. My eyes slam shut, hard enough that it almost hurts. "Sorry! Sorry! I'm so sorry, I didn't realise you were, uh, well—"

Weiss lets out a bone shattering sigh. "It is… fine."

My eyes slide open. "Really?"

"Of course not!"

"Oh."

A moment passes. Weiss speaks, so softly I almost can't hear it. "Just… glad it was you, I suppose."

She clears her throat. "Did you have a reason for barging in here?"

I did, in fact, but my mind isn't willing to tell me. It's still a little too focused on my glimpse of Weiss's chest. I haven't really noticed it before, but she has… you know… Like, noticeable you know's.

"I swear, if this is some kind of joke…"

"No! No! It's not a joke!" I yell, which would be a little less silly if I wasn't staring at a door while I was doing it. "I, uh, just wanted… I'm sorry, f-for the whole pebble thing."

There's a long pause before Weiss speaks, her voice quiet and soft. "Ruby, that… that wasn't your fault."

I thumb the frayed edge of my sweater. "It kinda was."

"Ruby, it—" A loud clapping noise rings out, like she just stomped the ground. "Could you get out here, please? I do not wish to have this conversation through a wall."

My cheeks burn as I realise how ridiculous this be must to her. Slowly, I step around the wall, hand rubbing at the back of my neck.

Fortunately, Weiss's shirt is back on. Unfortunately, it's still sopping wet, which means that I don't have to imagine any curves she has. Not that I would be imagining them. Just, if I _was_ imagining them, I wouldn't have to.

Not that I am.

A soft cough draws my eyes up from her shirt (which is what I was looking at) to her face, which is just as red as mine surely is. She wraps both arms tightly around her chest. "N-now, is there something else you wanted, or…?"

Somehow, this isn't how I imagined this going. Not just the day, but also how, even as I feel her eyes drill straight through my soul, I still can't look away. Her shirt's sticking straight to her skin, like's she's wearing a superhero costume. I raise a hand to the back of my neck. "Uh, I—I want to say sorry for… you know, blowing up at you in there, a little—okay, a lot, I guess."

Weiss doesn't say or do anything for a long moment, until I start wondering if I screwed up again. I wouldn't blame her.

Another sigh falls from Weiss's lips, although this one is cottony and soft.

I take in a deep breath. "I—I was angry at Yang, and then you started to—to shut me out, a-and I got angry at you, and then—"

My shoulders drop like wilting leaves. "I… I'm sorry for being a terrible friend."

The bathroom goes silent. Even the music and voices from the arcade seem to die, leaving only the gentle puffs of our breath.

I should look away, _walk_ away, let Weiss clean herself up and then… do whatever rich people do when they mess up a shirt.

But I don't.

I just… stand there. Staring at Weiss as she glances down, curls her arms tighter around her chest. Letting more flames burn under my cheeks.

A roiling mess of pain and wrongness forces itself up my throat. I feel like I'm six again, wailing because Yang doesn't want to play right now. I pull my sweater forward.

Finally, I manage to take a step back, eyes falling down to the floor. "I... I'll leave you alone now."

I begin to turn to leave, but before I can do anything, I feel something wet and warm and _Weissy_ crash into me, pulling me into a tight hug. Fifteen years of living with Yang means that my arms are up and around her before I can even react.

Any other response is cut off by the sheer surprise jolting through me like lightening.

She hugged me.

 _Weiss_ hugged me.

 _Is_ hugging me, even though it's actually a little cold and clammy, because, you know, wet shirt. Still, it's… I mean, I hugged her, sure, but that was me. Now she's the one starting the hug. And it's… nice. Really nice, actually. She's resting her head on my shoulder, her neck slowly relaxing.

I'm so distracted by the hug that I almost miss the mumbled words she says into my shoulder. "You are not a bad friend Ruby… I am."

She might as well have kicked me, because that's how fast I disentangle myself from her arms, staring in sheer shock. (I'm also still holding onto her arms. Because shock) "W-what? No! Weiss, you—"

Weiss cuts me off with a sharp glare. "Ruby, be honest. I've insulted you, your family, and… well, what happened out there was not entirely your fault."

She takes a step back, letting my arms fall. Her shoulders wilt like a dying flower. "You obviously know more about this than I do."

"Uh… do you mean talking?"

Weiss lets out another sigh, this one wrapped in licorice and cotton candy instead of barbed wire. "No, you dolt. I mean… having, well, having… _friends."_

I blink. Once, then again, her words ringing against my skull. I think back to her empty house, her words to Yang, and her oddly fancy dress from school. It doesn't make sense, but it also… does, sorta. Kinda. Like ketchup chips.

Weiss, taking my silence as exactly what it is, widens her eyes and continues talking. "N-not that I mean I've never had a friend before, I mean—you are the first friend that I—well, that I actually, well, made. As in, not my father or—"

"I don't think those count as friends," I say, trying to be kind, but mostly just thankful I actually had an understandable thought, and not _ohmygodi'myourfirstfriendreallyIdidn'tknowwhydidn'tyoutellme!_

Weiss, thankfully, is not psychic, so she doesn't notice my… whatever sentence problem thingy it is. Instead, she smiles, but it's a dead smile, lacking any light or warmth. "I suppose not."

She coughs quietly, and then pulls at the edge of her shirt. "At any rate, I doubt this stain will ever come out."

I wince. "Sorry."

She shrugs. "It's just a shirt." Her fingers pull at the tag at her neck. "Although I was hoping I could wear it more than once…"

I blink, once, then again. She… only wore the shirt once? But… "Did you buy that for today?"

Weiss tears her gaze away from the tag and looks at me, eyes bugged out into plates. "Um, well, yes. I—I—you said casual, and—well—"

Feeling a smile rapidly growing on my face, I quickly turn my head to floor, hand resting on the back of my neck. "Weiss, you didn't have didn't have to buy anything…"

Weiss crosses her arms. "I—I didn't have anything more casual than my dress, so—I bought the clothes. That I am wearing."

I squint my eyes. "But… it was late last night, and we had school all day yesterday, so… when'd you have time to buy them?"

Weiss's skin turns firetruck red. "Uh, well, I—I asked very nicely."

"Who?"

Somehow, she turns redder. "The, um, store clerk."

"Weiss, when did you have _time?"_

 _"_ _Ibribedastoreclerkcanwepleasemoveon?"_

I barely understood a word of what she said, but Weiss takes my millisecond of silence as an opportunity to turn around and face the mirrors. Her skin is still lit up like a fire, but she speaks calmly. (Er, mostly) "My father will not be happy with me if I show up like this."

Oh, right, her dad. The mysterious dad that I don't actually know the name of. "Don't you have something else you could change into?"

"Well, yes, but they're all at home, and I'd have to talk to him first, and then he'd see the shirt." _Dolt_ goes unsaid, even though I can still hear it in my head.

I swallow a sudden stone stuck in my throat. I can already see the solution, as clear as 2 + 2, but it… might not end well.

Brushing my foot against the floor, I take in a deep breath and say it anyways. "Well, you know, I… I might have some stuff at home that you could wear, if that's okay with you, I mean, they're cheap shirts and stuff, but—"

Weiss turns away from the mirror, eyes traveling down my sides. "No offense, but we're not quite the same size."

"Um… Yang's?" Oh wait, I'm still mad at her.

Weiss winces. "I—I'd rather not, she's… a little…well… larger?"

Well, yeah, Yang's a little taller than Weiss but not that—oh.

Oh.

My voice comes out as a squeak, "Blake's?"

Weiss tilts her head. "Blake keeps clothing at your house?"

I freeze. I'd forgot that Weiss didn't know about Yang and Blake, and now really isn't the time to get into that. I'll just have to play it cool. People keep clothes at their best friend's house, right?

Weiss continues speaking before I can continue, "I suppose there isn't many other options…. Thanks."

I grin, thankful that I didn't have to try to explain anything.

Yang would have killed me.

After I killed her, of course.

Weiss takes one last look at her shirt. "We should probably get going, before someone comes in here."

Right. Public washroom. "I-I'll lead the way, then?"

Weiss smiles. "Considering I have no idea how to get to your house from here—"

"Right, yeah." I laugh. "Well, uh, follow me then!" I turn and walk out the door, making it about five steps before I realise Weiss isn't following me.

I turn back to Weiss, who's went whiter than white sugar.

"You okay?" I ask.

Weiss blinks, and lightly shakes her head. "Um, yes, I'm fine, I—I just, well, I'm not really comfortable… walking out there with my shirt soaked and sticking and—"

I give a nervous laugh. "Right! Yeah, didn't, uh, think about that…"

Sticking my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, I'm struck by an idea. (Yay Einstein moment!) I quickly pull my hoodie off and over my head and press it against Weiss's hands.

"Ruby, what are you—"

"Wear it," I say. "It's dry, and it's not like it's all that cool out anyways."

Weiss stares at the hoodie for another moment, before bringing it over her head and pulling it down. It's not quite big enough for her, (which means my clothes fitting her is definitely a bust) but it does fit. Snugly, really, especially around her waist and shoulders, and it's making my heart feel funny and light and sharp and happy and I really want to hug her.

So I do.

"Does this, uh, work?" I ask into her hair. I really need to know what kind of shampoo she uses, because today it smells like mint, which I didn't know was even a thing with shampoo. Or any kind of soap.

Weiss lets out a deep breath before pulling away, pushing a lock of hair away from her eye. "Y-yes, this—this is quite fine, thank you."

She coughs. "Let's—let's get moving, shall we?"


	18. Yang-5

YANG

By the time I get home, any thought of Weiss has all but flown out of my head. All I think about is the three bookshelves Blake had me grab, which are now _comfortably_ nestled in my backpack, with one particular book digging against my shoulder. (Of course they're all hardcovers, why wouldn't they be hardcovers, it's not like some of us have to carry all of them)

When I get inside, still wincing from where her reference book is digging into my shoulder, I see Blake just lounging on the couch, eyes focused on another book.

Why did I grab these again?

Slowly, silently, I set my bag down. Blake remains completely focused on her book, like she doesn't know I'm here yet.

A sly grin spreads across my face. Alright Mrs. Belladonna, if that's the game you want to play…

I take a careful step forward, keeping every movement quieter than a silent film. The carpet muffles what few noises I might be making, allowing a nearly silent approach towards my unaware prey.

I'm sure that tiny little smile that's growing larger each step I take is because of her book. Without a doubt.

When I reach the couch, I, ever so slowly, lean back, priming my legs, and I pounce.

"Yang!"

"Blakey!" I nestle against her side, burying my nose against her arm. "Thought you looked you lonely."

"So you decided to jump on me?" she says, her voice sharp, but her smile tells me all I need to know.

I grin. "It worked, didn't it?"

Blake lets out a snort, but moves an arm around my shoulder. "Did you grab my stuff?"

"Yep, got them all." I push myself up until my heads resting against her neck. "Next time, remind me to bring a truck."

I feel just as much as hear her laugh, as she leans into my touch.

We lie like that for a few minutes, Blake reading, me dozing, until I start looking at her book.

I squint, reading a few lines about some train-car and… a gun?

"What're you reading?" I ask.

Blake doesn't move her eyes from the page as she speaks. "Some post-apocalyptic zombie thing. A little cheesy, but the writing's not bad."

"Really? Zombies?"

"What? It's fun."

Amusement bubbles up my ribs, as I push against Blake like I'm trying to merge with her. "Sure you aren't trying to _prepare_ yourself for something?"

Blake lets the book drop onto her chest and turns to face me. "Yes Yang, I'm preparing for the zombie apocalypse by reading a book written by some crazy Sci-fi author. You've caught me."

"Hey, I'm sure… what's his face is a fantastic authority on zombies!"

"Sure he is," Blake says, grinning.

Matching her grin, I start to lean my head forwards, lips hovering just above hers. I can taste her breath, brimming with joy and warmth.

"Blake? Was that the door?"

It's my dad's voice, coming down the stairs. It's followed by a few large thumps, meaning the actual person is probably a few steps behind. Or he dropped something. It happens.

With a sigh, we sit up and move apart, just enough that no one would think we were a second away from kissing. The air feels almost cold without Blake pressed up against me, and judging from Blake's apologetic look, she knows it.

Dad steps into view, a large laundry basket cradled in his arms. He's wearing a shirt and sweats, well-worn and well loved. Once he catches sight of me, his face breaks out into a large smile.

"I was starting to wonder where you were." He steps off the stairwell, lifting the full laundry basket a little higher. "How was school?"

"Bucket of laughs," I say, "Need any help with that?" I gesture towards the basket, which appears to be eating my dad's head.

He shakes his head, neatly knocking off a sock. "Nah, I got it." He starts walking towards the laundry room, hidden near the kitchen.

I roll my eyes at Blake. We're both well used to my dad's parenting style, or lack of style.

There's a sharp bang from the kitchen as dad opens the washer. "Hey, do either of you know where Ruby is?"

Oh, right. Ruby didn't tell anyone about her plan. (Note to self: make sure Weiss isn't secretly a serial killer. Knowing Ruby, she'd probably ignore all the warning signs. Or throw cookies at them)

"Yeah, she's hanging out with Weiss!" I yell.

Blake gives me an odd look, quirking her head like I'm a sentence she doesn't quite get.

Dad peeks his head out of the laundry room. "Weiss? Uh… that was… Right! Summer mentioned her; she was that girl that helped Ruby study, or something?"

Blake's still giving me that look. "Uh, yeah, pretty much."

"Right… did something happen with her that night? Summer said she apologized for something."

Crap. Should've figured Mom would remember that. Now I have to say something, 'cause dad's still leaning out of the laundry room, waiting for answer, and Blake's still giving me a look, so no help from her.

For a moment, I consider just telling him what actually happened, every sordid detail. Sure, it'd make me look like a snitch, but it would make Weiss squirm when she inevitably shows up here. And who doesn't want to see that?

On the other hand, Ruby would kill me.

I let out a sigh.

"Nothing, just some girl stuff," I say, waving my hands like I'm dismissing a puff of smoke.

Hey, it's not wrong. We're both girls, and stuff happened.

My dad's face slowly grinds to a halt. "...I'm not following."

"Forget about it," I say, trying to ignore the disbelieving snort Blake gives. "Really, it's nothing."

Dad hovers for a few moments before he leans back into the laundry room, and I hear the washing machine tumble to life. He steps out and walks towards the couch, grabbing my arm in an awkward attempt to comfort someone while they're in a position that doesn't really allow for comforting gestures.

His eyes find mine. "I'll trust you on this, but… promise me you'll let me know if you need help?"

I roll my eyes. "Fine, I promise."

This earns a chuckle and a smile, which is soon mirrored on my face. Happy Dad is far better than concerned Dad, and significantly more likely to leave me and Blake alone.

Dad steps away, and starts walking up the stairs. "Well, I've got some work to do. Supper's in an hour or so!"

The floor board's creek as he walks up, until I finally hear a door slam shut.

Peace at last.

I turn back to Blake, ready to pick up where we left off, only to find her wearing her "We need to talk" face, and not her "Kiss me now" face.

"What?"

She crosses her arms, officially entering angry mode. "How did you know Ruby and Weiss are hanging out?"

Crap. "I… bumped into Weiss at school. You know, just said hi and all that."

I sound nervous, don't I? I shouldn't. Why am I nervous? There's no reason to be nervous.

"Right, of course," Blake says, her voice dripping with enough sarcasm to kill a grizzly. "I'm sure that's all you did."

My face feels like its being pressed against a barbeque. (A Blakeque!) I shift away from Blake's stare. "Nothing happened, alright? I bumped into her, we exchanged words, and that's it."

It's true, in an 'exact words' kinda way.

Blake lets out a sigh. For one brief moment, I think she's going to drop it, but then she moves closer, and whispers into my ear, "You're going to tell me the truth, or that 'special surprise' I know you're planning isn't happening. Ever."

Said "special surprise" is a few hours without parents, sisters, or onlookers, perfect for all manner of fun activities. Or utter torture without them."

"Blaaaake… that's not fair…" I whine, _knowing_ I'm whining, but really not caring. It's been… a day, or something, since we've been alone for that long.

Blake doesn't reply, instead moving farther away, like some horrid sneak peak of what she's promising.

I close my eyes, dropping my head into my hands. "Fine. I… might've sorta threatened Weiss a little bit."

Blake groans, and slugs me on the arm, hard. Hard enough to bruise. (At least she's paying attention to me)

"Ow!"

"You deserve it," she says, "Besides, Ruby's going to do a lot worse once she gets home."

"Ruby isn't going to know," I grumble, rubbing the newly formed bruise. (For a bookworm, she hits _hard)_

Blake glares at me.

I hang my head. "She's going to roast me alive."

I wait for some comforting gesture from my girlfriend, a pat on the back, a gentle hand on mine, some comforting words, maybe.

"She'd have a pretty good reason to."

No comfort then. Course not.

I pull myself upright, shoulders square. "Hey, it's not like Weiss hasn't earned it. I mean, she's acted like a jerk, has a reputation as a jerk, and, let's be honest here, _is_ a jerk."

Blake rolls her eyes. "Come on Yang, we both know you'd still read her the riot act even if she did nothing but pick flowers and skip through the forest."

Now I have the image of Weiss as Snow White stuck in my head. It's… kinda adorable, actually. I shake the thought out of my head. "That's not true."

"Really? What about Sun?"

"What about him?" Sun's a great guy. We don't share any classes together, so we don't see him too much, but he's funny, nice, at least since he stopped hitting on Blake—

Oh.

Right.

I try and shrink into a ball, hoping that I'll somehow fall between the couch cushions and escapes Blake's stare. "Okay, fair, but we're friends now, right? We laugh about those days all the time!"

"His parents tried to get a restraining order."

"He talked them out of it!"

"That's so much better."

I cross my arms. Okay, sure, maybe I went a little far with Sun, but he was hitting on Blake. How was I supposed to handle that?

I'm not going to _ask_ Blake that. She'll just say some nonsense about handling it "maturely", and "without breaking three laws and landing yourself in jail for the night."

Blake sighs, and moves over, until we're touching again. "Can you just _try_ to be a little more civil to her? Give her a few days before deciding she's evil incarnate."

"I don't think she's evil incarnate."

" _Yang."_

Despite our continuing argument, I snake an arm around her waist, and rest my head on her shoulder. Doesn't really fit the tone right now, but she doesn't move away, so I'm doing it. "Why is this such a big deal to you?"

"Aside from being a decent person?"

"Trying to protect my sister _is_ a—"

Blake clamps my mouth shut. (With her hand, sadly) "I _care_ , because Ruby cares."

…She's pulling the big sister card, isn't she?

"Weiss is her friend, and, as Ruby's big sister, you should at least try to like her friends."

Yep, she is.

"Can you please try? For real?"

I frown, not saying a word in reply. My mind wars between her arguments, my… fine, spite, and the fact that it's Blake asking me to do this, which makes it stupidly hard to say no.

"Yang?"

"Fine," I say, followed by a growl. "But if she pulls some more crap like last night, I'm punting her out the door."

Blake sighs. "Guess that's the best I'll get, isn't it?"

Damn it, now she's sad. I bump my head against hers, softer than a cloud. "Don't worry about it, kitty-cat. I'll be nicer than rice…er."

This earns a laugh from my adorable pillow. "Ricer?"

"Shut up, it rhymes."

"Not really."

"Grrr."

"And kitty-cat? Is that the best you could come up with?" Blake says, with a smile brighter than the sun itself.

I pull away, doing my best to look offended. It's harder than it sounds when all I want to do is pull the girl in front of me close and hold her until the end of time. "Hey, I have _excellent_ naming skills, thank you very much."

Blake snorts, although it's a lot softer snort than before, and pulls me back towards her, with her face definitely set in "Kiss me now" mode. "You didn't even come up with Weiss's name."

We're close enough that I can feel her breath on my lips, hear her pulse pounding in my ears.

Blake's voice drops to an outright whisper. "Considering the rest of the school came up with it first."

I smirk, watching the light in Blake's pupils dance. "Hey, sometimes, there's nothing wrong with the classics… kitten."

Blake's hands find their way to my back, pressing hard against my spine. A bolt of sheer pleasure shoots up, warm milk and ice cream and roller coaster rides and every other wonderful sensation that's ever been felt by anyone ever.

My dad's still thumping around upstairs, and will be for at least a few minutes. The blinds are shut on the window, the door's closed, and there's absolutely _no one_ who can see us.

Blake's clearly thinking along the same lines as me, judging from just close she is. At just how intent she is on me and me alone. That attention, coming from _her_ , it's incredible, like being drunk, but better.

Oh, god, so much better.

I'm sure that if I was disconnected from this somehow, like I was some kind of weird third person observer, this would only take a second, maybe two if we were really going slowly. But in it, in this little moment of ours, where the whole world is nothing but the person in front of us, each second feels so much longer, and so much _fuller._

So, of course, moments before our lips touch, and this oddly intent kiss actually _happens,_ the door starts to open.


	19. Blake-4

**Well, this is the chapter where crap starts reaching towards the fan.  
So, quick disclaimer.**  
 **Any and all opinions held by the characters in this fic do not reflect the opinions held by the author.**  
 **Okay, enjoy the show.**

* * *

 **Blake**

My blood freezes as I hear the door. I push away from Yang as fast as I can, and try to straighten out the wrinkles my shirt's gained thanks to her touch. I don't have enough time to make it look entirely innocent; we're both red as a sunset, and my heart's about to beat straight through my ribs.

Thoughts as heavy as runaway trains race through my mind, each more terrifying than the last. If it's Ruby coming through the door, then we'll be fine, but she'll probably be with Weiss, who's a complete wild-card, or it could be Summer, returning from work, or Tai, who somehow fell out the window and is now on his way back in. Or some random person I've never met before, a pizza delivery guy or milkman, who has the worst timing in the history of life itself.

Before my mind can imagine any more horrific doomsday scenarios, Ruby steps through the door. She's not looking at us, instead chattering with someone behind her. Whoever it is can't see us yet, so that gives Yang and I an extra two seconds to look a little more put-together.

Yang brushes against my hand for a moment, a warm presence that helps calm my racing heart. It's all we have time for before Ruby and her guest—Weiss, of course—notices us.

Ruby takes one look at how we're sitting, and blushes furiously. She clearly knows what we were doing, or at least has a pretty good guess.

"Um, hi," she says, raising a hand in greeting. Anything else she might have said is cut off when Weiss nearly bumps into her.

"Ruby? Why did you—" Weiss sees the two of us, eyes sliding off me and sticking to Yang. "Oh."

No one moves as an impromptu staring contest erupts between the two. It's not what I wanted when Yang promised to be civil, but at least Weiss isn't screaming at us or asking what we were doing.

"Uh, yeah, so... Weiss is here," Ruby says, stepping to side and allowing Weiss in. The tension hanging in the air relaxes, down to an old western shootout rather than a war-zone.

Yang nods. "Hey."

Weiss nods. "Hello."

I wait for Yang to say something else, or twitch, but she seems to be doing everything she can to ignore Weiss without looking away from her. Meanwhile, Weiss looks like she's standing on a bed of nails.

Sighing, I shoot a smile towards Weiss, trying to be as warm and welcoming as I can. I notice that Weiss is wearing Ruby's sweater. It's odd; Ruby's worn that thing for years, longer than I've really known her. I don't think I've ever seen her give it to someone else.

Weiss clears her throat, and starts to slip out of the sweater. Ruby's eyes linger on her arms for a moment, long enough for me to notice, before she grabs the sweater. This on its own wouldn't be anything strange, but then I see Weiss's shirt.

First off, she's wearing a blue shirt and _jeans_. I've never seen her in anything but sun dresses and skirts, usually white or light blue. It's off, like she's suddenly in 3D and I'm missing my glasses.

The second thing I notice is the purple splotch spread across her stomach and chest.

Yang also notices, if her sudden, barely contained snickers are any indication. Weiss burns red, and Ruby's glaring at her with all the rage a fifteen year old can muster.

I have to supress a chuckle from myself. It's not every day you see someone as… _careful_ with their appearance as Weiss covered in the remains of a grape war.

Weiss clenches her fists as Yang's snorts grow into full-fledged laughter.

I elbow Yang's side, silencing her. Turning my head back to Weiss, I say, "I'm going to assume something happened with your shirt?"

Yang, of course, decides to ram her foot straight into her own mouth. "Let me guess, you picked a fight with the Kool-Aid man?"

If Weiss was annoyed before, she's livid now. Her hands are balled into fists, while her glare promises endless torture towards the pitiful being that earned her rage.

It worries me. Yang acting like a doof is normal, especially around people she doesn't really like. Weiss is different. I don't know her as well, but I've never seen her get this emotional. A few cross words, maybe even a flung barb, but never this kind of sheer rage. Did something happen?

Thankfully, Ruby steps forward, preventing anyone from doing something rash. "Actually, um, there was a—I had a pebble, in my shoe, and I got rid it, and then there was this guy, and he had a drink, and it spilled, and… yeah."

Her face lights up for a moment, and then turns into a scowl as she faces Yang. "Oh, and you and I need to talk." Her voice drops. From anyone else it would sound normal, but it's Ruby's best try at a growl.

Yang's still affected by it, if her nervous laugh is any sign. "Uh, what about, Rubes?"

Ruby crosses her arms, staring at Yang with what I assume is a copy of Weiss's glare. Ruby doesn't usually have that good of a glare.

"Oh," Yang breathes. "Um, well, you know, I should probably, uh, clean my homework or something. I don't know if I have time to—"

Without another word, Ruby walks over the Yang and grabs her arm. She drags her out the door, while Yang shoots me a pleading loo"k and mouths, "Help me!"

I stay on the couch, shooting her a small smile as she's pulled to her doom.

Weiss stares at them until they leave, and then keeps staring at the door, her lips split wide. Eventually, she seems to realise she's not alone, and whips her head towards me.

"Does—does that normally happen?" she asks, eyes wide.

A low chuckle rolls off my tongue. "Only when Yang eats her cookies."

"What?"

I get up, leaning back until I hear a small pop from my back. "So, I'm assuming Ruby has some kind of plan regarding your state of dress?"

Weiss blushes, glancing down at her probably ruined shirt. Shame, I imagine it used to look nice. "Um, well, yes, actually. She… she may have said something about some clothes that I could borrow, but, well, I doubt anything she owns would fit me and her sister is… well, _larger_ than I am and I don't want to impose—"

I blink, sorting through the small speech I received. Weiss is still redder than clown's nose, and keeps glancing towards the door, like she could somehow escape before Ruby drug her back in here. I can't help but wonder how Ruby convinced her to come here, considering how reluctant she appears to be.

I approach Weiss, moving as I would when dealing with a scared animal, and rest a hand on her shoulder. I smile, hoping to set her at ease. "I've got a few shirts that should fit you. More or less, at least."

Weiss bites her lip, and then sighs. "Of course you do, Ruby mentioned that, I guess I thought—except of course she wouldn't lie, I—"

Wow. Weiss Schnee, stumbling over her words. I resist the urge to look for any aerial pigs. It's so strange, so different from what Yang said she did only yesterday. Now, with her looking more bashful than an abused puppy, it's easy to see why Ruby likes her.

The grin on my lips speaks for more than my own amusement. "Ruby's not much of liar."

Weiss still looks like she's a puzzle piece from the wrong box, but she seems to relax slightly; a slight smile reaching towards her eyes.

I lead her into Yang's room—our room, really, considering the amount of time I spend here. It's still somewhat messy, although neater than Ruby's. If Weiss cares about the few shirts scattered across the floor, she says nothing.

I reach the closet, digging through several sets of Yang's lacrosse gear, assorted shirts, and, near the back, a few well preserved dresses. Seeing one of them, a glowing white one piece, brings back a long-ago night, the two of us having a "date" in this very room. The thought brings with it a surge of giddiness. That was a _fun_ night.

I hear a sharp noise of surprise from Weiss. Letting the memory drift away, I face her, noticing the way her eyes follow the dress.

"Those are quite nice," she says, sounding genuinely impressed. "Yang never struck me as the type to have such… finery."

I chuckle, turning back to the closet to keep looking. "She doesn't really seem the type, does she?"

I hear Weiss laugh, sharp, yet melodic. Like bells.

"She always did strike me as… well, a… a-actually, never mind." Her voice grows quiet, almost contemplative.

I find a shirt. It's old, and has a design from some band I used to like, but it's roughly her size. "Like what? Tomboy?"

"W-well, she… I… she came across as a… well, a dyke."

Everything stops. Me, the sounds of people moving around the house. Everything freezes.

Weiss, unaware of the effect she just had, continues. "I—I'm not suggesting that she is, of course! Merely that she, um, well, she does play sports, and—I know this is stupid, but she wears pants all the time and it struck me as odd, but I know she's not gay! I'm not—I'm not trying to insinuate anything, I swear."

I hear her words, register them in some pocket of my brain still functioning, but they mean nothing to me. That damn word echoes in my head, refusing to let go.

 _Dyke._

I grit my teeth, barely holding back the maelstrom of rage and hatred and tears that threaten to spill out.

"I know," I manage to say, standing with the shirt in hands. "She's just a tomboy, that's all."

Weiss nods. "O—of course, I didn't mean anything by it."

She's telling the truth. I wish I could say it makes me feel better, but all it adds is an element of guilt and resignation. She truly, honestly, was not trying to offend Yang.

The only problem is that she's right. She's right, and even though I know _exactly_ what she would think if she knew, I still can't hold it against her.

She's still seems nice enough. Still cares about Ruby, so I can't hold this against her. It doesn't matter, after all. So many people say the same things, or would make the judgment without bothering to find out.

I can't hold it against her.

I paste on a smile, knowing it looks entirely fake.

"Here," I say holding out the shirt. "This should do the trick."

Weiss takes it, but I don't wait to hear her response. Within seconds I'm by the door, pulling it shut.

"I'll leave you to change."

 _Click._

I stand there for a moment, listening to Weiss pulling of her shirt, to the nearly in-audible sounds of Ruby and Yang arguing, to Tai, working in his study. Slowly letting all the anger, fear, sadness, everything swirl around and around, hoping it will burn out.

I can't hold this against her.

Maybe if I keep thinking it, it'll come true.


	20. Weiss-6

**Weiss**

Once Blake leaves, I quickly close the blinds and shut the door, but I still feel exposed. I have never changed in someone else's house before, and I never expected too.

Ruby's sweater is easy to get off, even though it's a little tight. I grab the hem of my shirt, but hesitate.

I cannot lock the door. Blake or Yang, or even Ruby could walk in, and see me in nothing but a bra. That thought sends an icy shiver down my spine.

Enough. Blake gave me these clothes, as private a space as I'll get, and I certainly cannot walk home smelling like a cheap air freshener. I doubt anyone will walk in, and waiting will simply make it more likely.

I grip the hem of my shirt and in one motion, pull it off and toss it on the bed. It leaves a purple, slug like smear across my chest.

Fantastic. Blake's shirt will be just as dirty as mine if I put it on now. I need to clean it.

I do not have time, nor the right to take a shower, so I look around Yang's room for something to clean myself with. There's no shortage of discarded shirts and pants, but I wish to become cleaner, not dirtier.

I check near the window, searching for a cloth or even a box of tissues.

"—it wasn't like that!"

Yang's voice. It's coming from outside. I should move away, give them privacy, but then I hear Ruby's voice.

"You threatened her! Said—I don't know what, but it hurt her!"

Her voice is filled with fire and steel, sounding nothing like the meek girl I've come to know.

"Ruby…" There's a long pause, and when she starts speaking again, I can barely hear it. "I was just trying to protect you."

Ruby's voice softens, but it doesn't relax. "I don't need protection. I can handle myself."

"Are you sure?" I hear a thump. "How much do we really know about her? You've only known her for, what, two days?"

"She's not a psychopath, Yang, she's… Weiss."

"How do you know?"

I start to back away. Yang has a point. They don't know me, why should they trust me, a girl who insulted them, who is so unused to being "friends" I can't change my shirt in their house.

Then I hear Ruby's voice, loud and strong. "Don't say that! She's not a crazy axe-murderer or anything, she's my friend!"

I stop. Not just my feet, but the train of thought I was following.

Ruby cares about me. Truly cares, if she's willing to go against her sister like that.

I should have known. Ruby's too genuine to have it any other way. Still, I can't help but feel happy. Really, truly, deeply happy.

I wasn't lying, earlier. I have never had a real friend. A few acquaintances, people I knew because father knew them, but never someone who actually cared about me, for me.

Especially not like Ruby.

I want to hug her again. Not like I did before, where I was trying to copy her attempts at comforting me. I want to hug her for the sake of hugging her. Tell her just how grateful I really am. How stupid I've been so far.

The volume of their conversation begins to die down, until it's no more than faint whispers floating on the wind. I realise I'm still standing in her room, half undressed, and sticky. I should fix that.

The syrup's dry by now, so while I doubt it will be very comfortable for the rest of the day, I doubt it will harm Blake's shirt.

I walk to the bed and grab the shirt, but before I can put it on or even unfold it, I hear the door open.

I have no luck. Truly.

I don't have time to hide or redress myself before a man walks through the doorway. I've never seen him before. He's blond, tall, scars up his arms, and carrying a laundry basket.

I try to cover my chest, but it's not nearly enough. His eyes go wide, jump down before he rips them back up, and then hastily closes the door.

"S-sorry! I—I didn't realise you were—oh god; you're Ruby's friend, aren't you? I'm her dad, I… Jesus, I am so sorry."

Well, now I know where Ruby's adorable awkwardness comes from.

…Adorable?

"I know you're probably mad at me, which I get it, really, but could you say something? Just to make sure you didn't jump out the window or anything."

Right. Yes. Accidental peeping tom wsho is at least twice my age, if not triple.

Joy.

"Y-you should have knocked!"

Yes, it is his house, but I believe this is one situation where I can feel offended.

To his credit, he sounds legitimately remorseful. "I know. I… I had no idea you were here, and I thought Yang was still downstairs, and I was doing laundry, so I thought… I didn't know you were here."

He does have a point…

"Are you decent? Because as much fun as it is talking to a door…"

Right, yes, clothing. I grab Blake's shirt and shove it on. It's curled string of earthy brown and pesto green against black, surprisingly simple and understated. I may have underestimates Blake's fashion sense.

Or I'm desperate.

My pants are still stained in a rather suspect region, but it's good enough.

"You can come in," I say.

Ruby's father steps in. He longer has the laundry basket, and approaches like animal control dealing with a frightened polar bear. He watches me for a second, and then extends a hand.

"Second try," he says. "I'm Taiyang, Tai for short. Yang and Ruby's dad."

I frown, but grab his hand. "Weiss Schnee."

His eyes widen in recognition. "Right! Summer mentioned you. You're Ruby's tutor, aren't you?"

"And friend, apparently."

He chuckles. "I guessed that. Ruby's good at getting people to like her. When she actually talks to them, that is."

He looks at my shirt, tactfully avoiding my chest.

I still blush.

"Is that Blake's shirt?" he asks.

I nod. "I… Ruby and I had a small incident with a rock in her shoe and a slushie, and… it didn't end well for my shirt."

"Ah, figures. We've gotta get her some new shoes pretty soon anyways."

"Oh? What's wrong with the pair she has?"

"Nothing, they're just getting old. About time for a new pair." His eyes flicker to my shirt, still crumpled on the floor. "Do you want me to wash that for you?"

"Oh! No, that's fine," I say. "I doubt those stains will come out."

He shrugs. "If you're sure."

He then starts grabbing the other clothing in the room, and carries them out to the laundry basket.

I'm not sure if he's dismissing me or not, so I stay rooted to the floor.

He comes back in with the basket, and sets it down on the bed.

"You sticking around for supper?" he asks as he picks up a pair of particularly foul jeans. At least, I assume they are jeans. They seem to be made of mostly grass stains and holes, to be honest.

I take a moment to think. "I don't think so. No offense."

He shrugs. "None taken. Having it with your folks then?"

In a way.

The door slams shut downstairs. I hear Yang's clomping stomps and Ruby's daintier jog up the stairs.

Taiyang hears them as well, and hoists the basket up. "I should get back to this. Nice meeting you."

I bow my head. "A pleasure."

Although now I know far too much about normal teenagers cleanliness, or refusal to exist within the same dimension as that word.

He leaves without another word, and for a long moment, I stand still.

An alarm clock sits on a surprisingly clean bedside table. Somehow, it's quarter to five. We spent more time at the mall than I thought.

I should go. I told Father I would be out for a while, but I'm starting to run late. I don't wish to anger him.

But I also want to say goodbye to Ruby, and that, I believe, is worth the risk.

I grab her sweater before I leave the room. Just to make sure she gets it back.


	21. Yang-6

Yang

Ruby is wrong.

Okay, maybe she isn't _completely_ wrong, but she's not right either.

Sure, I was stretching a bit. Weiss probably isn't a pyscho killer, but that doesn't mean she's not… jerkish.

I have a point.

So does Ruby.

Shut up brain.

I follow my sister back into the house, with shoulders totally not slumped. I hear Dad upstairs, talking. Weiss, maybe? I can't make out the words.

What I'm far more interested in is Blake stretched out body on the couch. Ruby gives her a wave and moves on, but I pause.

She's not reading or watching the TV, just staring at the roof, hands across her chest. Her eyes are unfocused, yet intense, like she's staring at a monster lurking at the edge of her sight.

"Hey Rubes?" I say, staring at Blake. "Maybe you should check on Weiss?"

She stops and turns with eye brows quirked.

"Weren't you all 'She's evil!' five seconds ago?"

"Weren't you all 'No she's not!' five seconds ago?" I say. "Besides, Dad's upstairs. I doubt she'll manage to gut you before he hears something."

She studies me for a moment, looking for any lies.

She shrugs. "Sure."

She just about runs up the stairs, which I'm sure Dad will just love, but we're alone.

I walk, carefully, to the couch. Blake moves her legs to give me a spot to sit, but otherwise is still as a coma patient.

"You okay?" I ask as I take a seat.

Blake purses her lips. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just thinking some stuff over."

"Oh? What kind of stuff?"

She shrugs. "Boring stuff. College stuff."

"Right, of course." I chuckle. "College makes you cuddly, not this."

She frowns and sits up. "I'm _fine,_ honestly."

"Did Weiss say something?" I ask.

"What? No!" Blake throws a pillow at me. "This has nothing to do with her!"

I catch the pillow and stare at her.

"…She made me think about a few things."

"I figured." I throw the pillow away and move closer. "What kind of things?"

Blake looks away. "Just… a reminder of why we stay quiet about… this."

"You mean…?"

"Yeah," She looks back and sits up. "She… it's nothing, really. We… we started talking, a bit, and it turned to you, and… she said a few words. That's all. Nothing happened."

"Sounds like something _big_ happened," I mutter.

Blake pretends not to hear me. "I get where she's coming from—I mean, I don't, but she's not—you get what I mean."

"No, I don't." I throw my arm around Blake, damn the risk, and pull her closer. I don't want to scare her. "Tell me what she said."

"She didn't say anything," Blake insists.

"Then why are you so worked up?"

"I'm not worked up!"

"You're screaming at the ceiling."

Blake slams her mouth shut.

"I'm _not_ screaming," she insists, before cupping her face with her hands. "She… she told me about some assumptions she made about you before she really _met_ you."

"Assumptions? Like…?" I make a gesture towards us. Sorta.

Blake nods. "It's not a big deal."

My knuckles snap like burning twigs. "Not a big deal?"

Suddenly, the couch is too warm. Too constricting. I get up before I break the damn thing.

"What'd she say?" I ask, pacing.

Blake gets up, moving close enough to tackle me.

"Yang—"

"I mean, was she obvious about it? Was it something subtler, or—"

"Yang!" Blake grabs my shoulders. "It was _nothing._ She said some stupid crap that I know is wrong. I'm used to it."

I seethe for a few moments longer, but her hands ground me, keep me from doing anything stupid.

My shoulders slump. "You shouldn't have to be used to it."

She shrugs. "It's not a huge deal."

I gently grab her arms. She looks startled, almost worried.

"It is a big deal, the _biggest,_ " I say. "Do you know how often I want to just kiss you? Hug you? Do something that actually says just how much I love you every second of every day?"

I pull our arms down, taking Blake's hands in my own.

"Do you know how much it hurts to _not_ be able to do that?" I continue. "To have to hide everything we are from everyone, like we're ashamed of it—of us?"

Blake is silent for a moment. I wonder if I've went too far when I hear a strangled whisper escape.

"I know that," she says, voice low. "I'm _sorry,_ Yang. But it's better this way. We _are_ together this way. We don't have to worry if someone's going to tear us apart."

My hands start to tremble, just slightly. "It shouldn't have to be like that."

"That's not Weiss's fault."

"Of course it is!" I snap, letting go of her hands. "It's her fault, and the media's fault, your ex's fault, even our parent's fault! They're the reason we hide! The reason—"

I take a sharp breath. This isn't something I want Dad or Weiss or anyone hearing. Hell, this isn't something I want _Blake_ hearing, but I can't stop myself now.

"I want to take you to the Vytal festival," I say, a worn smile breaking through. "Or prom or any other of the schools dance things. I want to give you a cheesy Valentine's Day card, and get teased by my parents, and… just be with you until I die."

Blake's breath hitches. "Yang…"

I quickly grab her hand. "N-not that I don't like what we have now! I do! Honestly! I just—"

A car rolls up the driveway.

I let go of Blake's hand.

Thumps follow my sister as she races from wherever she was upstairs to the front door.

I try to crack a more normal smile. "G-guess Mom's home, huh?"

Blake smiles just as uneasily as I do. "Looks like it."

I turn to go say hi, but feel her hand wrap around mine.

"I get it," she says. "We'll… we'll talk more later, okay?"

I nod.


	22. Ruby-6

**RUBY**

I make it halfway up the stairs before Yang brings up Weiss.

I shouldn't listen. Blake's always preferred privacy when she talks to Yang, and I've always respected that, but something tells me to stay.

So I do. I hear Yang worm through Blake's defences, and I hear Blake, subtly, without malice or even anger, speak of assumptions Weiss made.

My hands curl into trembling fists. I know _exactly_ what assumptions those were.

I know Weiss is prickly. She's told me I'm her first friend, and she's acted like it since I met her. But I never expected her to think like that. Like… like everyone else in our stupid school, in this stupid town.

It feels like an ice sledgehammer to the gut.

"Ruby?"

"Gah!"

I fall down, hitting my head against the stairs and getting my foot tangled in the handrail.

Wincing, I twist my head until I can see Weiss. Her eyes are blown wide, hand on her mouth like an old lady watching a car accident. Which is actually kinda accurate. Except for the old part.

"Are you alright?" she asks, stepping down and helping me up. I can still hear Yang and Blake talking, but it's murmurs and the occasional sharp yelp, not words.

I rub the back of my head, testing for any bumps or blood. "I'm good," I say, grabbing my leg and pulling. It pops out with a sharp crack.

Weiss rolls her eyes. "Of course you are. How bad did you hit your head? Is your ankle okay?" She holds up a hand, two fingers stretched out from a tightly clenched fist. "How many fingers?"

"I'm fine," I repeat, moving around her with enough grace to prove it. Well, grace for me, at least. I do, however, grab her hand and pull her up. She really doesn't need to hear the conversation beneath us.

Weiss lets me lead her up, but she shoots a glance towards the clock above my dad's office door. Once we're in the hallway, she stops.

"Ruby," she says, and I turn just in time to see her crouch down and pick up a pile of crumpled fabric. She holds it out. "Here."

I gently take it from her hands. It's my sweater, of course, inside out and with a slight sheen of sticky purplely crystal stuff right in the middle. But it's mine, and Weiss took the time to give it to me, in person, and that means something.

I'm just... not quite sure what.

Right, I have important words that must be worded. I gently, reverently, place the sweater on the banister, where my dad will eventually see it and realise it needs to be washed.

"I heard about what you said," I say, watching Weiss's face as it shifts from a gentle smile to cold shock. "To Blake. About Yang."

Weiss takes a deep breath. Her hands clasp at nothing, again and again, like a baker kneading dough. "They—they were just thoughts I had. Thoughts I knew I were wrong. And I thought I should be honest about—you've been so good to me—"

"I get it," I say, and surprisingly, I mean it. "It's not—I'm glad you said something, or, I mean, that you told someone and then I found out, except not really—"

I turn and slam my head into the wall. Could I be handling this any worse?

"I'm sorry," Weiss says, voice soft as a doctor telling you about your terminal disease. "I didn't—I wasn't—"

"And the thing is," I continue, and it's hard to get out through my suddenly closed up throat, because despite how madly I'm mucking this up, Weiss still looks at me like I'm her dead dog.

"The thing is, I'm—I'm glad you did say it." I turn away from the wall and walk up to Weiss, her face shrouded in shadows. "Because I can't—I want to be your friend. You're—you're a cool girl, and you can be nice, but I can't be... I _won't_ be friends with someone who thinks that way."

That stops her short. Makes her head jump up with a focused, questioning gaze. "I—I know I shouldn't have made those assumptions, but—"

"It's not that—I mean, that's bad too, but it's not—I'm terrible at this—I need... I need to know why it matters, Weiss. If it does, to you. Or, something like that."

Weiss blinks. "I don't understand."

I close my eyes, hand reaching up and taking Weiss's. Her skin's warm and sweaty, two words that don't belong in the same universe as Weiss Schnee, but she doesn't say a word about it.

"If... my sister... or anyone I knew... or... if I was like _that._ If I—If that word, was maybe, just a little... accurate. Would it change anything?"

There's a moment of silence, where all I can hear is the sound of the dryer, Yang and Blake's ending conversation, my dad scribbling in his office. Each breath, each heartbeat shared between me and Weiss.

There's a moment where I hope.

Weiss steps back, ripping free of my grip. "Of course it would matter! What kind of inane, redundant, absurd question is that?" Wild eyes glare at me, as she rubs her hand like it touched a dirt crusted animal.

Sometimes hope lingers, even past it's time, with nails and claws. I take a step forward.

"It'd still be me? Wouldn't it? If I was like that, I wouldn't be a different person; I'd just... be a little odd."

"A little...?" Weiss stares, until she turns away and glares at the stairs. "Broken people aren't odd. Your sister isn't odd. She needs help."

Crap.

"I—I never said anything about—"

Weiss snorts. "I am not _stupid._ Don't act like I am."

"I'm not saying you're stupid, but—but you're wrong! Yang's not—"

"It's Blake, isn't it?" Weiss continues. "She has clothes here, and when we walked in, they seemed almost—"

Nails dig into the palm of my hand. It takes a moment for the blood to register. "Fine, you're right. Yang and Blake are dating. They have been for years, and there is nothing wrong with that."

Weiss pauses, looking down at her shirt. "You don't understand."

I stomp forward. "Like you do? You told me I was your first friend, at seventeen! What do you understand about people?"

"More than you do!" Weiss yells, turning around with fire blazing in her eyes. "More than you could _ever_ understand. I know how this ends."

Another argument dies on my tongue at the look of sheer pain and loss on her face. The look of regret and what-ifs.

I square my jaw. "Weiss, I—I don't know what happened to you, or why you think like that. But I know Yang. I know Blake. And there are no two people in this world as great, and as wonderful as the two of them. Whatever you think will happen, whatever problems you think they have, I know they will never hurt each other, or themselves, or me, or _anyone else_."

"Not on purpose," Weiss whispers. "But that's what broken people do. They break things, and you can never, ever, quite make it whole again."

The floors creak. My eyes shoot up, landing on the terribly familiar blond hair and blue eyes.

You ever wondered what it feels like for horror movie characters to realise they've got themselves lost in the forest with a werewolf chasing after them?

It feels like this.

You spend one moment, nothing more, hoping beyond reason that, somehow, it's just a false alarm. Normal life will resume any second now.

Then you fall through darkness, never knowing how long or how far.

Then you hit the ground.

"Ruby? What is she talking about?" Dad asks.

I can't find my voice.

"We're talking about your daughter," Weiss says, turning to him with her arms crossed. "There's something you need to know."


	23. Blake-5

Blake

Summer barely makes it in the door before Weiss and Ruby's argument becomes audible.

What I hear turns my stomach inside out.

"Your daughter, your eldest, and her friend, they're—Mpfh!"

Yang turned away from her mother, and jumped at the stairs two at a time.

I follow right behind her.

"Yang?" Summer says, eyebrows furrowed. She follows us, slower. "Blake?"

It's almost funny. I know what's coming. I know it with the grim certainty soldiers feel when they see a sniper with a gun aimed at their forehead.

Yet I still rush to meet it, desperately hoping I'm wrong, that Weiss was about to tell Taiyang Yang was pregnant, or a drug dealer, or anything other that the truth.

The scene at the top of the stairs is almost comical. Taiyang's standing in the door of his office, confused and utterly perplexed as to why his daughter has her hand covering her new friend's mouth, while said friend was struggling to tear it off.

It would be funny, normally. If it was Ruby and Yang, they'd be the first ones to laugh.

But Ruby looks so afraid, and Weiss's normally cold eyes are burning with rage.

Weiss wins her brief struggle with Ruby, throwing her arm off to the side. Ruby stumbles back, falling against the wall with a thud.

Concern overtakes anger in her eyes before Ruby gets to her feet, with only a bruise to show for their antics.

"What the hell is going on?" Summer demands, storming past the two of us like an avenging angel.

"I was about to ask the same thing," Taiyang says, crossing his arms and glaring at Weiss.

Weiss glares back, petulance fuelling a level of defiance I've never seen her give an adult before. "I was trying to tell you that Yang—"

"Don't you dare," Yang spits, hands curling into fists as she staggers towards her. "Don't you _fucking_ dare."

"Weiss," Ruby whispers, "Please..."

Neither of these stops Weiss, although she does gaze at Ruby, resolve weakening for one brief second of hope.

But then anger resurfaces. Anger, and something else.

Something terrifyingly familiar.

"Your daughter," she says, pointing at me, "is _fucking_ that girl—"

She's cut off by Yang's fist as it crashes into her nose. It snaps, loudly, and Weiss tumbles down, a dark river of blood gushing down her face.

"Shut up!" Yang yells, stepping forward with her fist raised. "Say another word, I dare you, you son of a—"

"Yang!" Taiyang barks.

Summer leaps forward, grabbing Yang's collar and ripping her back.

"That's enough!" she says, but Yang continues to froth at the mouth, screaming threats at the bleeding girl so extreme they would get her arrested.

I should say something, get her to stop, or maybe just take my own shot at Weiss, but...

I can't move.

Everything I feared, every nightmare I've ever had has come to life.

They know.

They know about me and Yang.

They know what I am.

With one hand trying to hold back torrents of blood, Weiss pushed herself up.

"Barbaric brute," she snarls, glaring at Yang like she wished she could rip her skull in half.

Yang, calmer, merely glares back.

Taiyang steps in between them. "Weiss, go home."

"Sir, I-"

" _Now."_ He takes a step forward. "You've already got a broken nose."

Weiss's mouth drops open. She casts her eyes at the equally murderous expressions on Summer and Yang, and pales.

Then she turns around and steps towards Ruby, a hand reaching for the younger girl's arm.

Ruby flinches away.

"Ruby?" Weiss says, her voice small.

"Just go." Ruby sniffles. "Please."

That destroys whatever resistance Weiss still has. Refusing to look at anyone, she silently makes her way down the stairs.

She passes me on the way down. I see her hesitate, neck twitching like she wants to look up, but she doesn't.

I see tears.

No one moves until we hear the door open and slam shut. The only sound is the washer and dryer, the wind outside.

Our breathing.

Summer lets go of Yang, allowing her to slump against the banister like she just ran six marathons.

I feel about the same, complete with sickness.

Ruby stays motionless, save for the turn of the head when Weiss goes, and a raised hand to wipe away tears.

"Well?" Yang says, sliding down banister until she's sitting. "You going to say something, or...?"

Summer grabs her arm and looks away.

"Was she..." Taiyang begins, grimacing. "Is what she said... real? Or..."

Yang laughs. It's not snot the bubbly and exuberant sound I'm used to.

"What? That I'm _fucking_ Blake?" she says. She glances at me, eyes questioning, but we both know it's too late.

"That's... not quite how I'd put it," Summer says.

Ruby says nothing.

"Yeah," Yang admits, somehow managing to sound flippant, like our whole world didn't shatter. "Okay? I am. I'm dating Blake. We're girlfriends. I said it."

Neither Summer nor Taiyang look shocked. Or maybe shocked is now their default expression, and I can't tell the difference anymore.

They do look at me. Not only me. Their eyes flicker from Yang to me and back, like a pendulum in a clock, but it's enough to make my skin itch.

"I'm... I should go home," I say, my voice scratchy. "My... my parents would probably like it if I was there for once.

"I'll drive you," Summer says, and although she's smiling, it hits like a bullet because ten minutes ago she would have asked me to stay.

Yang shoots up, cracking her arm against the banister, but she doesn't notice.

"You don't have to go," she says, turning to Taiyang. "Tell her she doesn't have to go."

"Of course not," Taiyang says quickly. Too quickly. "But... maybe she should. For tonight."

"It's okay, Yang, really," I say, smiling. "I'll see you in school."

Yang still looks sullen and angry, but I doubt that look will disappear for a long time.

"Fine," she says, but she rounds the banister and hops down the steps until she's at eye level.

"Yang?" Summer says.

Yang sucks in a deep breath. "If... If it's all out of the bag anyways..."

She leans in and kisses me, just barely a peck, but it's enough that, for one beautiful moment, I forget everything but the feel of her lips.

She leans away, bashful as the day we started dating.

"Goodnight, Blake."

"Um... G-goodnight, Yang."

...

Holy crap.

The ride to my house is predictably awkward.

Neither I nor Summer utter a word as she drives. It's her car, as like an idiot, I didn't drive mine today.

She turns on the radio soon after we leave. It's set to a rock station, except it's off enough that we hear more fuzz than music. Neither of use adjust it.

By the time we get to my house, her knuckles are white against the wheel. Mine are in my lap, exactly where they landed when we got in.

"Thanks for the ride," I say.

"Don't mention it."

I still don't move.

"I'm sorry for... that."

"I figured you would be," Summer says, and an actual, real smile grows on her lips. It disappears just as quickly.

"So you're... you're actually dating Yang? That wasn't all some weird prank you cooked up?"

I look away.

Deep breaths.

"No, it wasn't a prank."

She sighs. "I figured. That kiss was a bit too... practised."

My cheeks burn.

I hear her fingers tapping against the wheel.

"Look, Blake, I'm not... I'm not _against_ what the two of you got. Alright? I just want you to get that. I mean, I know I don't sound like it, but it's not... it's not a huge deal with me."

"I understand." But...

"But..." she sighs again, and then lays a hand on my shoulder.

I turn.

"You're... you're still her best friend, right?"

I blink. "What?"

She grimaces. "I mean, me and Tai, we're best friends. Yeah, we're more, we're... a couple, but he's still my best friend. I trust him. I've known a lot of relationships, been in a lot of relationships, especially at your age, where it's not like that."

I bite my lip.

"Do... do you remember when I first met Yang? In kindergarten?"

Summer smiles and chuckles. "That time she gave that Cardin kid a black eye?"

"Yeah." A soft smile, filling my heart with warmth spreads across my lips. "She did that because he was picking on me. She didn't even know me, but she still did it."

I swallow. "That's why I became her friend. And... that's why I fell in love with her."

Summer's silent for a moment.

"Okay," she says, then reaches over and unlocks the door. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

My heart feels infinitely lighter as I nod and say, "Y-yeah, sure. Definitively."

I step out of the car. Lingering by the doorway, I send one last look at the mother of my girlfriend.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

I close the door, and watch as she drives off.

Then I turn around, and head into my house, where my parents wait for me to return from study hall.


	24. Weiss-7

Weiss

On rare occasions, my father would give me a lesson.

"When you make a decision," he would say, often with a shot glass in hand, "You must commit. You must act as if your choice is the will of God, and make every reasonable measure to accomplish your goal."

Then he would finish his drink—his only drink for the night—and continue, "You won't always be right. No man or woman ever is. Sometimes you will discover something that proves your choice was wrong. When that happens, accept it, and commit yourself fully to your new decision. But never hesitate. Never question yourself. Doubt others, doubt the future, but never doubt yourself."

I did that tonight. I committed.

And now I'm bleeding on my carpet.

The apartment my father and I share is small, but impeccable. The doors do not squeak, the floors do not creak, and the entrance is certainly not supposed have a small pool of blood near my hastily removed shoes.

Yang's _lovely_ parting gift bled through the entire walk home, and although it no longer bled like a burst balloon, the amount of red I can see is… disturbing.

I stumble through the house, passing through the living room and into the kitchen. I cast a wary glance at the dining room, visible through a gap in a dividing wall. The lights on.

For now, I ignore it, scrounging through the cramped and formally clean kitchen for paper towel or something to stop the bleeding.

A chair creaks, and the floor squeaks.

"Weiss?"

My search stops, and I turn. My father, a thumb of a dark brown drink in hand, stares at me from the edge of the dividing wall. His suit is rumpled, but only in the way that suggests he's worn it for some time, and his eyes show no sign of lethargy. He's drinking, but not enough to affect him.

He gives my clothes—still Blake's borrowed set, damn it—and then to my nose. His mouth drops ever so slightly. His drink is forgotten on the dining table, and then he's knelling in front of me.

My father is not intimidating, not in the traditional sense. He is not tall, nor does exude an aura of _danger_ like Ruby's father did in those moments after I spoke, after Yang attacked and I was alone—

A finger brushes against my nose. A sharp flare of pains rides through my whole skull, and despite my best efforts, I flinch.

It's his eyes. My father's eyes are always searching, digging deep and tearing you apart until there's nothing left. They're the kind of eyes you can't lie to.

But tonight, that is exactly what I must do.

"What happened?" he asks brusquely.

I step back. "Nothing. I—I tripped," I say, and immediately regret. Not the words. What happened tonight…

Point is, talking jostles whatever was broken, and more pain crashes in.

His jaw hardens, but he doesn't push.

Not on that.

"And your clothes?" His eyes dart down to my shoes and then back. "These are pathetic quality."

"An accident." More pain. I swallow it down.

"Hmph."

He returns his focus to my face, wiping a finger along a trail of blood. "How long has this been bleeding?"

I flinch.

"A while," I croak.

Something changes. He removes his hands and steps back, _something_ briefly colouring his features. He smooths it over, but his eyes remain changed. Softer, almost, so subtly it's only by comparison I can tell.

"Get your coat," he says. "We're going to the hospital."

"Father—"

" _Now,_ Weiss."

I do as he says.

* * *

It's seven when we arrive at the hospital, and another ten minutes before we get a doctor. By then the bleeding's stopped, although I dare not touch my nose in fear of starting it again.

The waiting room smells of disinfectant and plastic. Dozens of charts telling pregnant woman what to do and reminders to vaccinate coat the walls.

The doctor checks out my nose, turning my head this way and that way. It hurts, and he knows it.

After a few minutes of that, he steps away, and asks my father to come with him.

"X-ray's," he explains, and they leave.

And I'm…

Alone.

Time passes. I let the quiet sounds of the hospital lure me in, counting each footstep, each creak of the massive building. It's not fun, but it is… fulfilling.

I don't have to think about blonde girls with broken eyes.

I don't think about Ruby.

The door opens. I expect my father, or the doctor, but it's not them.

He's a short man, with balding black hair and an old, worn cardigan. His leg has a slight limp, and there's a noticeable tremor to his hands, but he gives me a broad smile.

"Doctor Newall. I… I didn't realise Father called you."

He shrugs. "Thought you might want someone to talk to. I didn't quite believe him when he said you were in a fight."

"I wasn't fighting!" I yell, regretting it immediately.

"Of course not," he says, checking his watch. "Are you up for a walk?"

"We're in the hospital."

He chuckles. "We won't be going far. There's an old trick I think might help."

* * *

I've known Doctor Newall for seven years, and I'm not sure what he is to me.

He's more than an acquaintance. I know his favorite colour, and he knows my blood type. I know the name of his first crush, and he knows the contents of every nightmare I've ever had.

He talks to me on Mondays, listens to me on Tuesdays, gathers my spilled sorrows and helps me see the person reflected in them.

At the end of every week, my father writes him a cheque. I don't know how much it's for. I'm not sure I want to.

For now, he's holding a cold can of tea to my face, and it's enough.

We're sitting in the cafeteria, backs against a table. The lights are off, and we're lit only by the glow of a single vending machine.

Doctor Newall loosens his grip on the can. I grab it, and he shuffles over, looking at me with practised eyes.

"Do you want to tell me what really happened?" he asks.

I shift the can until it's resting in the crook of my nose. "Not really."

He waits.

"I made a friend."

His smile is broad, real, and so _achingly_ familiar. "That's great!"

"I lost her."

"…less so."

I sigh. "Have you… have you ever done something that you thought was right—that _was_ right, in principle at least, but you still hate it?"

He pauses. "I think everyone who makes it to adulthood has a moment like that. What did you do?"

"I…" My throat freezes. "I… I said something about her sister that perhaps I… shouldn't have. Or, at least not in the way I said it."

He leans on the table and chuckles. "Yeah, that's something that happens to everyone. Trust me."

"It's not that simple." I set the can down. The pain's faded, mostly, and the cold's become more of an annoyance. "Do you remember what we talked about four years ago?"

It takes him a moment. "As in…?"

I swallow, and nod.

"Wow," he says, leaning against the table. "Her parents know?"

"They do now," I mutter.

"I see," he says. "Weiss, while it's admirable you tried to help, dealing with those kind of problems… somethings aren't meant to be shared."

"I'm perfectly aware of that. I… I panicked. My friend said a few things, and I put it together, and then her sister was there, and her father, and I just… I panicked," I repeat in a quiet voice.

Doctor Newall looks at me for a long moment.

"It wasn't the first time I'd done something like that," I admit. "I've insulted my friend's sister before, acted like a complete jerk when she tried to do something nice for me, and she just… she kept trying. Always. She—she _defended_ me! Against her own sister, no less!"

I'm crying, and it's not from pain. I rub at my eyes, try to stifle the tears, but instead I take a raspy breath and continue.

"She was my first real friend. Always trying so hard, always ignoring or moving past every stupid thing I said. She was perfect. And I ruined it. Again."

At some point, Doctor Newall started rubbing circles into my back. It's alien, but I don't stop him.

"You didn't ruin it," he says, and I wonder if he's lying. Would it better for my continued mental health for him to lie, or to force me to face the truth?

"I know it doesn't mean much, but this isn't the end," he says. "You have to explain yourself to her. Tell her why you did it. Even if she doesn't agree, she'll have to understand you did it because you cared."

I sniffle, wincing. "And what if that doesn't work?"

"Then you move on," he says.

I think about it. Think about forgetting about Ruby, graduating high school, continuing to college, never thinking about shy grins or red hoodies or the smell of roses—

I don't think past that.

The door to the cafeteria opens, and my father and the doctor from before step in.

I school my features, wiping away the tears on my sleeve. My eyes are red and puffy, but the late hour excuses that.

Doctor Newall stands, exchanging a quick glance with his fellow doctor before turning to me.

"We'll talk more at our next session, alright?" he says.

I nod.

"I'll send you a cheque later this week," Father says, and waves him off.

With that final dismissal, Doctor Newall leaves.

I spend the next two hours taking X-rays.

It's late when I get home; I can barely keep my eyes open.

I don't sleep.


	25. Yang-7

Yang

My kiss with Blake, probably the last I'll ever have, is nowhere near long enough. How could it be, when I was trying to force a thousand words, a thousand hopes and dreams into a few seconds of contact?

After she pulls away, and I say goodbye, I watch her leave. I can feel Dad's eyes on my hair, but I don't say anything. I don't look at him, even when Blake is gone and I'm shutting my bedroom door.

The house is utterly, completely, silent.

I crash on my bed and lie there, barely breathing. After a few moments, I hear the floors creaking as my dad moves downstairs, and his muffled voice as he talks to air.

He might be ordering pizza. He might be calling Mom, asking her what they should do about their deviant daughter.

I know it's not that, but it's not impossible now, and it's all that frigid bitches fault.

It's an hour before I hear Ruby's footsteps.

They come close to the door, and hesitate, waiting.

"Yang?"

I don't move.

"Yang… can I come in?" she asks, already opening the door.

"Go away."

"Yang, I—"

I stand, picking up a pillow and throwing it as hard as I can. It misses Ruby, but it crashes into a picture with a satisfying thwump.

"Go away!" I yell. "Haven't you fucked up enough yet?"

"N-no, I haven't—I mean, I didn't-"

"What? What didn't you do? Out me? Out Blake to Mom and Dad and _Weiss?"_

"That's _not_ what I was doing!"

"It's what you did!" I scream, actually _scream,_ the kind of noise you only hear in horror movies. "I don't know what the _hell_ you were trying to do, but that's what you did. You _outed_ me, and Blake, and—and—"

"And I told Weiss," she finishes, her face drawn into a frown. Not just her lips, or her eyes, but her whole head. Her whole body, focused on regret.

Despite all the shit tonight, it _hurts._

"I'm sorry," she says, voice tight. "I screwed up. I know that. I'm not—I'm not trying to defend myself. This was my fault."

I pause.

"It's not just your fault," I mumble, falling. It hurts to push the words out, but it's the good kind of pain. "It's as much Weiss's fault as yours. Probably more. She chose to out us, you… you just did it by accident."

Ruby doesn't relax.

"I was trying to help," she says. Her hand grips the door, and her body leans against it, her strength vanishing. "I—I heard you and Blake, and I thought, you know, maybe I could—I could do something. Change her mind, or find out at least, and then I'd… make it better, somehow."

In another time, I would walk over to her, put my hand on her shoulder, and tell her everything was going to be all right.

Tonight, I fall onto the bed, letting my head spill over the pillows. "Hell thanks you for the new highway."

I close my eyes. Ruby lingers for a few more moments, until she shuts the door and walks away.

Eventually, somehow, I go to sleep.

By the morning, I regret ever laying down.

* * *

It's late when I get up.

Normally, I get up at five or six, have a quick breakfast, and then I'm off to meet up with Blake for some alone time.

Today, however, it's quarter after nine when I roll out of bed and into decently clean clothing. The birds are singing, the sun is shining, and the world just has no decency. None.

My bedroom window shows me the pavement where mom's car usually sits, and Ruby's room is empty, with the bed messily made and the lights off.

From downstairs, I can hear and smell frying bacon.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what's going on, and I really don't want to deal with my dad right now, but as my stomach forcibly reminds me, I didn't eat anything last night.

So I go downstairs.

My dad's in the kitchen, of course, wearing some joke apron Uncle Qrow got him for a birthday several years past. The stove is covered in frying pans filled with bacon and pancakes. It's something I see every time he gets the day off, but it's stiff. Artificial.

I stop by the edge of the kitchen, lean against the wall, and adopt my best "I don't care" face.

"Decided I needed the day off?"

Dad isn't startled, calmly tending to the food before he turns. "I think you've earned a break."

"Where's mom?"

"At work. There was some kind of contractor thing, she couldn't cancel."

He turns off the burners and piles the food on two plates, carrying them to the table before he sets them down.

"Dig in."

I walk to the table, but remain standing, gripping the back of a chair until my fingers hurt. "Can we just get this over with?"

"Get what over with?"

I roll my eyes and sit down, lumping my hands around the plate. It's not the most dramatic of confrontations, and if I want to strangle him, I'll have to drag my hands through pancakes and bacon.

I suspect that was a strategic choice.

Dad sighs, and pushes the plate away.

"You're dating Blake."

I nod.

"Like, dating-dating? I'm going to marry this girl one day dating?"

I nod again.

"So you're… gay."

I hesitate. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Dad pauses for a moment. I try to read his expression, but there's nothing there. It's like I'm staring at a brick wall while crashing a car into it.

Finally, he stabs his pancakes.

"I had wondered if you were, a few times," he says. "Maybe that's something every parent does. They see their kid looking at something, or doing something a little different, and they think, maybe that means something."

"So… what, you're not surprised?"

He chuckles. "Trust me, I'm more than surprised. I mean, yeah, maybe a little less than I could be, but…"

He pauses, picking up a knife and sawing through his pancakes. "I had some moments, sure, little times where I realised you never had a boyfriend, or I saw how you looked at Blake, but it was always just that. Moments."

"Looked at Blake?" I lean forward. "What does that mean?"

Dad pauses. "Sometimes, when she's in the room, talking or reading, I notice you'll just… stare at her. Not in a, you know, bedroom eyes kind of way—although you do that too—but more like your just in awe of her. Like she's an angel."

He picks up and eats a bite of pancake, chewing silently.

I wait.

"…Is that all you have to say?"

He sighs. "Do you want me to say something else? Ask why? Why Blake? Ask why I found out from Ruby's tutor?"

He saws hard on his pancake pile, shaking the table. "I know those answers. I get it, better than I know you think I will. I have questions, I have concerns, but I _know_ this isn't the right time for them."

"What concerns?" I ask. My stomach gives a faint whine as I continue to ignore my breakfast, but I honestly don't care.

Dad's fork cracks into his plate. "Goddammit."

"What concerns, Dad?"

Dad puts the fork down. "It's nothing kiddo."

I stand, chair squealing backwards, slamming my hands into the table and making the cutlery jump. "You know what? No. I'm out now. Through the worst way possible, yeah, but it's done. I'm not hiding anything anymore, and neither are you."

Dad pauses for a moment, glaring at his food before he looks to me.

I forget that my parents were in the army sometimes. I always know it, of course, and I've used it as a threat a few times, but when I'm at home, listening to Dad discuss cases and Mom sketching decks, it doesn't register.

But then there's times like now, where I can see a flood of emotions rolling past his eyes, yet his face remains stone-still, that I'm reminded.

"I'm not ashamed of you, Yang," he says, quietly. "I'm not disappointed, or unhappy, or even all that scared."

"But I just found out that my daughter has a part of her life that's been hidden from me, for years, and I… I can't help but wonder why. What did I say or do that made you feel like you couldn't trust me with this?"

The air is clogged by the ensuing silence; neither of us having any real clue how to continue.

"…I was eleven when I realised I was… different," I say, sitting down. "Everyone else in my class was looking at these movie stars and talking about how handsome they were, and I… I mean, I could see what they were looking at, but I didn't care. I thought… I thought I was a late bloomer, or something. So I kept waiting for the magic moment, when I'd see a guy and realise I _liked_ him."

I pause. Dad blinks, but stays silent.

"Except I never did," I spit, nailing grinding against the table. "I stared at posters, watched movies with naked men, and it _never_ worked. I thought something was wrong with me—that I was _broken."_

"Why didn't you say something?" Dad asks, reaching for my hand. "Honey—"

I pull away. "What was I supposed to say? I don't get turned on when I stare at dicks? How do you think that conversation would have went?"

I close my eyes. "How was I supposed to tell you that, sometimes, when we were changing for gym class, I couldn't look away from the other girls? That I kept wondering what it would feel like to hold a girls hand? To… "

A lump forms in my throat.

"I was home, alone, surfing channels, when I stumbled onto this preacher guy, ranting about hell and damnation and all the sins that could lead you there. I thought it was ridiculous, but then he… he started talking about the "gay menace," and how they would destroy the very idea of marriage and all that bullshit."

"Yang…"

I fix him with a hard glare. "That was the first time I'd ever heard the word "gay." The first time I actually had a name to put to what I was. The first time I realised that I wasn't… w-wasn't some kind of new breed, just… different."

A hardness creeps into my voice. "And I found that out from an asshole in Texas. No one in town ever talked about it. Mom didn't talk about it. You didn't talk about it. I had no idea what you would have thought about—about people like me."

"We weren't going to throw you out—"

"I _know,"_ I growl. "I know you wouldn't, and that's what I kept telling myself, but I never had any proof. How… how was I supposed to tell you?"

He's quiet for a long, long time.

He sighs. "I don't know."

"Of course not." I stand and slam my chair into the table, shaking the plates. "I'm going to school."

"Yang—"

"Bye." I leave through the back door, not bothering with my backpack or fresh clothes.

I let the echoes of the door slam chase me down the street.


	26. Weiss-8

Weiss

I'm not going to say I want to go to school today.

The brace the doctor gave me, while almost entirely covered under the bandage holding it in place, is still obviously _there_ , noticeable no matter how I stand or shift my head in the bathroom mirror. And the bruise surrounding it? Ha.

I sigh and back away from the mirror, grabbing a few bottles of make-up off the counter.

I don't really care about the injury. I've suffered far worse. But to go to school is to face Yang, Blake, or Ruby. To stare them in the face and see how my actions affected them first hand.

I could ignore them. It would be the smart thing to do. The safest. Distance myself from the whole mess, accept the lower grade in math and carry on.

If my father knew the whole story, I'd be doing just that.

But that's not what Newall wants me to do.

I sigh, running a thumb over the bottle of concealer.

I have to at least try to cover up the bruises adorning my skin. The touch will hurt, but it's necessary if I want to look like anything other than an ER patient.

I have to face Ruby. It's going to hurt. She's probably going to say things I don't want to hear, but that's fine.

It's fair.

I need to explain myself to her, tell her the reason I did what I did, and deal with whatever she says or does in return.

I finish with the make-up—not much, just to accentuate what's already there—and straighten out my skirt.

I'm ready for this.

* * *

No amount of readiness can help when I can't even find the girl I want to talk to.

I arrive early, of course, behind only the teachers themselves. The parking lot lacks cars or bikes, and the dew on the fields is undisturbed. It's oddly serene.

It's also maddeningly free of any Ruby Rose, but I suppose that's what happens when you show up several hours early to school.

I wait at the front entrance for her, sitting on a bench just inside the main doors. It's metal, old, and peeling paint so quickly I'm sure my skirt now qualifies as art, but I continue to wait.

If I stay here, I can't miss her. And if I don't miss her, I can talk to her at the soonest opportunity, and I can just get it over with. It'll be done, and I can move on.

I can.

But I can't. Not without a Ruby to face, and as long as she's not here, my plan, such as it is, simply won't work.

I try to quell the rising doubt that she won't show up today. I know Ruby. Well, I don't, but I know she's not going to miss school just because of her family imploding around her.

I shouldn't think too hard about that.

It's an hour, give or take, before the door opens.

Well, honestly, it had opened several dozen times before that, but it was never Ruby stepping through the solid steel doors.

It still isn't, but Blake still stops in her step once she sees my face, shock written cleanly across her features.

She recovers quickly, stepping in and closing the door behind her. I got a glimpse of her backpack, small and dark, with faded paw prints.

Her eyes meet mine.

I swallow, and stand. "Good morning."

She eyes me for another moment. "Morning."

I look away, fingers tapping against my thigh.

My plan, such as it was, was to meet with Ruby, not Blake, who I'm not sure if I've ever shared a full sentence with. But she was there last night.

She was one of the people I... affected.

It could be a travel run. A test.

I step forward. "I… I wanted to—"

She brushes past me, speed-walking down the hall.

"Hey!" I shout, temper flaring until I remember her very good reason for avoiding me.

Okay, fine.

I'll just follow her.

It's not hard, with the way her footsteps echo and the relatively simple set up of the school. She doesn't even try to lose me. I'm not sure she's even noticed I'm following her.

Her "trail" ends at the library door. Through the window, I see her flick on the light before grabbing a box full of books off a table.

I grab the doorknob, but hesitate. Some part of me thinks this is a bad idea, and I'm not sure it's just the scared part anymore.

I don't know Blake. Not like I do Ruby, or even Yang, as pathetic as those comparisons are. Any attempt to talk with her could, and probably will end badly.

But I can say the same about a talk with Ruby, and at least if I screw up here, I still have a chance with her.

I open the door and step inside.

I'm familiar with the library, of course, but it's still strange to see it so empty, and so… dark. Even with the light Blake turned on—a single, solitary light that barely illuminates the table she took the box from, let alone the other tables in the room or the shelved-up walls.

I can see Blake just fine, in her baggy sweatshirt and torn jeans, her eyes weighed by heavy black bags.

She doesn't look much better than I do, and all things considered, that's an accomplishment.

Her eyes flick to me, but she doesn't stop what she was doing, which is pulling seemingly random books from the shelf next to the door and throwing them into the box.

I swallow. "You're, um, Yang's…"

"Girlfriend," she finishes, without looking at me.

"Right." I clear my throat. "I wanted to apologize for what occurred last night. I—I made a—"

She cuts me off. "I really hoped you got the message at the door." The box goes back on the table as she turns to face me, arms crossed.

"I just wanted to say sorry for—"

"If you were really 'sorry' about what you did, you wouldn't have done it in the first place." Blake shakes her head. "I really don't have the patience to be your guilt-assuagement."

"This isn't about that!"

She sighs. "Maybe not. But you don't get away from what you did with a few words and a regretful face."

"I know that," I say, stepping forward. This is it. Just… do what Doctor Newall said.

"I… I was trying to help you. What you're doing right now, it's bad for you, it's bad for Yang, and it's bad for Ru—for everyone around you. It's self-destructive, and it's going to get you hurt."

Blake stiffens. "Yang would never hurt me."

I bite my lip. "Not on purpose."

She turns back to the shelf, grabbing a book at random and throwing it into the box.

"The weird thing is, I almost believe you," she says. "On some level, I think you actually believe you're helping me."

"I am." I look away. "Trust me. I've seen how this ends."

"You said that before." She looks at me, meeting my eyes. "What do you mean?"

"It doesn't matter," I say quickly. "But these…relationships always end with one or both of the people involved hurt. Sometimes it's… it gets really bad."

"It won't end like that."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, actually, I do," she says, glaring at me. "I'm not blind to the dangers. I… I know there are ways this can end badly. But all relationships can."

Her gaze softens. "Sometimes I do wonder if it's worth the risk. If I wouldn't be better off taking Sun out to a movie. But I… I love Yang. It's just that simple."

"And I think you understand what I mean."

My breath catches.

Blake's eyes roam across my face, like she could see the colour of my skin for the first time. "You've been where I am before, haven't you? Fallen in love with someone you shouldn't. And…" She hesitates. "You were found out."

I clench my hands. "It doesn't _matter_ ," I spit. "My _past_ doesn't matter. What _matters_ is the future you're building for yourself—for Yang—for Ruby! Being with Yang, calling what you have a relationship is self-destructive and dangerous. If you're too stupid to see that, then there's nothing I can do."

I turn and wrench open the door. Quiet whispers of conversation float down the hall. More students must have arrived.

"You said you came here to apologize," Blake says. "But I don't think you ever said about what."

I grind my teeth, but my sudden burst of anger can't erase my guilt.

"I'm sorry for outing you and your—your friend to her parent's." I sigh. "This isn't something I should have gotten involved in."

"But you are now."

"…I guess I am."

I hear her step closer. When she speaks, her voice is timid. "Are you… are you going to… spread the word?"

I clench the doorknob a little tighter.

"Of course not," I say. "I know where that leads."


	27. Blake-6

Blake

It's lunch when I see Yang at a quiet table in the far corner of the cafeteria. She's wearing the same clothes from yesterday, wrinkled to death. She's reading a book while ignoring her food; from the size, I'm guessing some kind of text book.

She looks… better than I feared.

I grab my own lunch and sit at her table. She flicks her eyes up before dog-earing the page she's on and closing the book.

I wince. "I know I've told you how bad that is for the book."

Yang shrugs. "It's a textbook. Don't think anyone's going to care."

"True." I take a quick glance around. The nearest group is a few tables away, and I can't make out what they're saying beyond raw noise. Whatever we speak about won't be repeated.

I turn back to Yang. "How did your parents take last night?"

Her hand tenses, but Yang's voice is calm. "Decently, I guess. Didn't really get a chance to talk with Mom, but Dad seemed… okay with it."

"…That doesn't sound like the full story."

"It's not," Yang admits, pushing her textbook to the side. "We talked, and I got angry, but he… he was fine. With us."

I raise a brow. "You got angry? Wow, that never happens."

Yang scowls. "It's not funny. Not even now. It's… I mean, it's nothing, really, but… Can we talk about some other stuff? Like, how we're going to make sure Weiss keeps her mouth shut for once?"

Oh boy.

I reach out and grab her arm, rubbing a thumb over the inside of her wrist. "I… had a chat with Weiss, earlier."

Yang narrows her eyes slightly. "Oh?"

I take a breath. "She wanted to apologize, believe it or not."

"You know which way I'm leaning."

"In great detail," I say, gripping harder. "Look, she came by before school, and we talked, and she's not some religious asshole throwing bible verses at us. She… she thinks she was helping us."

Yang frowns, pulling away. "So, what, you're on her side now?"

"Of course not! I'm still plenty upset at her, it's just… it's more complicated than 'she's a bad guy.'"

"You think I care _why_ she did it? Sure, it didn't go as bad as it could have, but she fucking outed us to my _dad,_ Blake!"

"I get that. I—I'm not trying to make excuses for her, I just…"

"Weiss is a grade A asshole," Yang says, slouching against the table. "I really don't care _why_ she's like that."

I bite my lip. "She said she wasn't going to tell anyone else—"

Yang snorts. "And you believed her?"

" _And,_ she… she said that she had, been where we are, before."

Yang looked up. "You think she's… like us?"

I nod. "Or she has some other secret like this, but, yeah, that's the read I got."

"Then…" Yang sits up, a million thoughts flashing behind her eyes. "Then why the hell would she—I mean, she had to get just how big of a deal that was, right?"

"She thought she was helping," I say, shrugging.

Yang quietly mulls it over, glancing to her side every few seconds. I look.

It's Ruby, eating alone and glancing at the clock. Like Yang, her clothes are wrinkled and dirty. Like Yang, I recognise them from yesterday.

"That's bullshit," Yang says, quietly. "There's no way anyone, _especially_ someone who's—who's like us would do something like that. Not in a million years."

"We don't know that," I say, leaning forward. "How many gay people, aside from me, do you actually know?"

Yang is silent for a moment, thinking. As time stretches on, her face changes from thinking to stubborn defiance.

I continue. "We've both heard about the camps. Those places are _designed_ to change people, and her father has more than enough money to send her there."

Yang scowls. "All the more reason for her to keep her mouth shut. If she'd went through that crap, wouldn't she do everything in her power to keep other people from having to deal with that?"

I clench my hands under the table, knuckles popping. "You're missing the point."

"Maybe," Yang admits, meeting my eyes with a heated stare. "But I don't get why you're up in arms about this. So what, maybe Weiss enjoys the… rounder things in life, like we do. That might make me pity her a bit, but it sure as hell won't make me defend her to my girlfriend."

I sigh. "She's a human being. A person, who, at one point, realised she was _different_ from everyone around her. She realised her feelings towards others didn't fit what other people called normal. She had to deal with that, on her own."

Yang takes a sharp breath.

"I've been there," I continue. "Yeah, I clearly handled it differently than she did, but I know what she went through. Maybe still is going through. And I know… I know those feelings can make you do stupid crap. I don't want any person, even someone like Weiss, to suffer like that."

Yang's shoulders slump, her breath slightly ragged. "None of this justifies what she did."

"I know that—"

" _And,"_ Yang continues. "Weiss has already hurt you. She's hurt Ruby, and my parent's and—and me. Maybe… Maybe she is some poor, suffering soul, desperately in need of friends, but I'm making a choice between helping someone who, if I need to remind you, fucking _outed_ us to my parents, and keeping you and everyone else I care about safe, I'm not picking the Ice Queen."

"It's not about you helping her," I say. "It's—I just want you to keep an open mind. And to put things into perspective."

"I'm going to protect my sister, and the woman I love. That's all the perspective I care about."

Just as she finishes saying that, Yang flicks her eyes to Ruby. They widen.

"Speaking of the goddamn devil," she mutters, standing.

I stand and look myself.

It's Weiss, talking with Ruby.


	28. Ruby-7

**Ruby**

I almost don't recognise Weiss when she walks up to my table, pain and exhaustion flashing across her eyes. Whatever painkiller's she was prescribed—if she was prescribed any—clearly hasn't been used. The jeans are gone, replaced with an off-white skirt and long sleeved shirt.

And, of course, there's her face. I can't help the sympathetic ache my heart gives at the metal taped to her nose and cheeks, at the bruises hidden under worn makeup. Nor the wince when she breathes in, and asks, "May I sit?"

I wanna say yes. I really, really do, because right now, Weiss doesn't look like the person that strolled out of my bedroom and upended my sister's entire life. She looks like the girl I surprised in the bathroom, the girl who admitted she never had friends before.

That girl makes me nod. The other one makes it a silent, cold movement.

Weiss sits. She shifts a few times, resting her hands on the table before moving them to her lap.

"I talked with Blake earlier," she says, quietly, refusing to look me in the eye. "And I've… I thought, considerably, about what I did, last night."

I shrug. "What's there to think about? I said the wrong stuff, you pieced together the wrong idea, and things went terribly."

Weiss finally meets my eyes. "That's not… exactly how I'd describe last night."

"How would you describe it?" I ask, leaning forward. "Because that's exactly what I remember. I… I pushed when I shouldn't have, and you just… you immediately went and told the first person that showed up. You coulda destroyed my family, and…"

My heart hammers against my chest, to the point I'm surprised no one else can hear it. "And you did kill whatever friendship we had."

Weiss's eyes widen, her breathe catching like an aborted hiccup. "That's—no! We're not—I wasn't trying to hurt you, I just—"

"You did," I say, surprising myself with just how calm my voice sounds. I don't feel calm. I feel like sewer water, all the guilt and anger and loss and betrayal swirling together until I can't even pick out which one is which.

Weiss pauses, and for I moment I think I see tears in her eyes before she reins herself in.

"I did not _try_ to do any of that, Ruby, I swear." She shoots a glance towards the nearest table, before scooting closer. "I… I knew someone, like your sister. Not really _like_ your sister, you understand, but… like her."

I nod, because I do understand. Mostly.

I'll figure it out.

Weiss stares down at the table, moving a hand to grip the edge. "She thought she fell in love with someone. Not real love, or even really all that close of a relationship, but she was young. She and someone else—another girl—dated for a while, before things fell apart."

She shudders, drawing in a deep breathe before speaking again. "I still remember those days very, _very_ well. It took the girl a… rather long time before she recovered from what happened."

Weiss eyes dart up. "The people around the girl suffered too. Maybe more than she did. The life this girl led created a vortex of pain and suffering for everyone around her and I _don't_ want to see you get sucked into something like that."

"Weiss, I… I don't need you to protect me from my sister," I say, glancing at where I know she's sitting, still engrossed in whatever her and Blake are talking about. "I'm sorry for what happened with that girl, but she's not Yang. They're not some black hole; they're just… in love. You know?"

Weiss scowls. "You have no idea what you're talking about." Her grip on the table tightens enough to make the wood almost groan. "Just because their _relationship_ hasn't self-destructed yet doesn't mean it isn't going to."

"It doesn't mean it will _,_ either." Before I can think, I grab her hands. Weiss stiffens, and I fully expect her to pull away, but she doesn't.

"Maybe… Maybe I don't know much about dating and all that, but I do know my sister, and Blake," I say, brushing my finger across her palm. "They're not going to fall apart or anything—I mean, they were friends long before they started dating!"

Weiss sighs. "I'm… I'm not going to convince you of this, am I?"

I shake my head.

Her lips curl into a frown as her hands tighten around my own. "I just… I don't want to see you hurt by this."

"I know," I say, looking away. "But… I mean, you… you've done more to hurt me than they have. A _lot_ more."

"I… yes, I'm aware," Weiss admits. "But it was never about that. I never wanted to hurt you, or your sister, or Blake… I just…"

"Just what?" Yang asks, stepping towards the table like a wolf stepping through the woods. "Just what, exactly, were you trying to do?"


	29. Yang-8

**Yang**

"Just what, exactly, were you trying to do?"

I cross my arms, giving Weiss the best glare I can manage. It's hard to read just how much of an effect it has on her—but she won't meet my eyes.

In the corner of my eye, I spot Ruby rising, just before I feel a hand clamp onto my arm.

"You're seriously doing this now?" Blake whispers, before turning to the other girl and speaking normally. "I'm sure Weiss was just leaving, wasn't she?"

Weiss crosses her arms. "Not really."

I step forward until I'm looking down on the top of Weiss's head.

She tilts her head and meets my eyes.

"You will be," I growl. "But not before you answer my question."

"I can just tell you," Ruby says from behind me.

I turn, just in time to watch Ruby step past me and next to Weiss.

It strikes me that I'm practically surrounded at this point, with Weiss and Ruby at my front with Blake in behind. Like I need to be contained.

"Tell me what? The bullshit excuses she fed you?"

Weiss stands, so suddenly and violently the table shakes.

"I'm sorry," she says. "Okay? That's what I said. I'm _sorry._ That's what I said to Ruby, and to Blake, and to damn near every other person I've talked to since yesterday."

I wait for her to continue talking.

"…That's it?" I say, after it's clear she's done. "You're _sorry?_ Sorry about what? That you—that you damn near could have destroyed my life?"

My nails bite against my palm. "I got damn luckily that my parents took it as they did. But if they hadn't… if things went just a little different… you have no idea how _fucked_ you could have made things."

"But it _didn't,_ " Ruby stresses.

Blake grabs my shoulder. "Yang, no one's saying you don't have every right to be mad at Weiss—"

"I wasn't as big a jerk about it," Ruby mutters.

"But maybe you could do this…" Blake glances to her left. "Anywhere else?"

"No," Weiss says, "No. We're already doing it now, aren't we? Why not finish it here?"

She steps forward, until our faces are close enough for me to smell the metal taped to her nose.

"You say I have no idea what I almost did to you," she says, quietly. "In a way, you're right, of course. I've never been in your shoes, not exactly. But that doesn't mean I don't understand."

"Weiss?" Ruby says, looking at her with wide eyes. Innocent wide eyes.

Weiss doesn't even look in her direction. "Blake said you know the risks associated with what you two are doing. That you've made the choice in full awareness of what you're risking."

"Of course we did," I say, frowning. "I'm not an idiot, Weiss. I know what we're doing isn't exactly… well received."

"Well received?" Weiss huffs. "See, that's exactly what I'm talking about."

I feel Blake stiffen.

"You were so worried about what your _parents_ would think," Weiss spits. "If they'd—if they'd throw you out or call you names or shove you in some dark camp, but if that was the worst way this could wrong… if that was the most horrific eventuality you risked…

"What are you talking about?" Blake asks.

She looks at her, mouth open like she's about to speak—then shuts it.

"Come on, answer the question," I say. "How else can it go wrong? We're all listening."

"You think I really want to do that?" Weiss snaps, hands curled into fists. "You think I enjoy thinking about this? Remembering everything that…"

Ruby gives her a sharp glance.

I bite back the impulse to deck her. "Oh fuck you. I didn't start this mess. You want to blame someone? Try looking in a mirror."

"I didn't—I'm trying to help you!"

"Great job with that." I cross my arms. "I don't want, or need your help."

"I'm aware of that," Weiss says. "But I wasn't doing it for you."

She glances at Ruby. "What do you think's going to happen to your sister when this all inevitably blows up? When your life is torn apart, when you're the centre of everyone's attention. What kind of life do you think you'll force her into?"

A shock of cold slices through my heart. I suck in a deep breath before responding. "You'd think I'd do something that would—that would hurt my _sister?"_

"I don't have to think it," Weiss says. "I just have to watch."

"Oh, hell," Blake mutters.

I dig my nails into my palm until they bleed. "Keep watching then. Watch for the rest of your fucking life, but you'll be doing it from a distance. I don't want to ever hear about you and her talking again—especially about that shit, you hear me?"

Weiss eye bulge, just as Ruby storms past her.

I cross my arms. "What? You gonna argue?"

Ruby glares. "You—you can't just—"

"Seriously? You're telling me you _want_ to spend time with this back-stabbing—"

I don't get a chance to finish my sentence, because Weiss's fist connects with my jaw.

I've taken far stronger blows on the field, but it's so unexpected that I stumble back, nearly tripping over Blake as I regain my balance. My lips burn, which rises to a red hot bolt of pain when I brush a finger against my lips. When I yank my hand away, a droplet of blood sticks to my fingertip.

The previous buzz of the cafeteria, the hum of thousands of conversations that provided us some measure of privacy, is gone. Now the whole damn school is starring at the four of us.

Not that Weiss has noticed.

She steps forward, hands curled into trembling fists. Her breath comes out it ragged gasps, and she looks so, so goddamn angry.

It doesn't look right on her. Not just in that I've seen her this emotional, but like it's not even Weiss Schnee at the driver's seat.

She steps forward.

"Ruby's my _friend,_ " she spits. "If she wants me gone, if she wants me to—to disappear from her life, then fine! I will. But I will not, ever, abandon her just because some naïve, self-centered, delusional _idiot_ tells me to!"

I open my mouth to say—something, anything, but before I can, another voice speaks up.

"An understandable sentiment, Miss Schnee, but perhaps one you could have expressed _without_ resorting to violence?"

Glynda Goodwitch. Vice-principle, math teacher, and easily the scariest person in the entire school.

She takes us in with a sharp look—me with the split lip, Weiss with the bloodied hands, and Ruby and Blake, standing off to the side looking terrified.

"Four of you, to the office. _Now."_


	30. Blake-7

**Blake**

I've never been called to the office before.

I mean, I have been here before. I've helped teachers with photocopies, met with Professor Ozpin and Mrs. Goodwitch to discuss book club details, but never as part of any kind of disciplinary measure.

But this is different.

My girlfriend is sitting behind a door at the other end of room, discussing what exactly happened the cafeteria, along with another girl I barely know and decidedly don't trust, and there's… there's almost nothing I can do.

I'm here for a reason, obviously. Likely as some kind of witness to corroborate whatever it is the two say, along with Ruby.

Oh hell, there's that too.

I shoot a glance at the other girl, quietly sitting next to me in the office's pseudo waiting room. She's barely moved since we got here, head tilted towards the floor and eyes vacant.

This is a mess.

I sigh, closing my eyes and falling onto the wall behind me. The office secretary, a young woman by the name of Lavender, barely glances my way before going back to her paperwork.

Whatever discussion going on in Ozpin's office is inaudible, likely by design, but I do catch the occasional word whenever things get heated. Usually Yang's. Not enough to guess what's happening, but I keep listening anyways.

Until Ruby speaks.

"What did Weiss mean?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper.

I open my eyes and sit back up. Ruby's looking at me now. "Hmm?"

"When she said that she… That she didn't _not_ understand, or that she didn't like remembering something." Ruby's brow furrows. "She's talking about... about being like you, wasn't she?

I swallow. "I... I'm not sure I should be answering that."

"She is, isn't she? That's what Yang meant when she said…" Ruby trails off, eyes flickering towards Ozpin's office door.

"It was something like that," I admit. "Weiss and I… we had a chat before school started. She may have said some things that lead me to think that she might, _might,_ not be entirely straight."

"But that… that can't be right." Ruby lets out a shaky breath. "I mean, it fits, really, but… she couldn't be. Not with what she did."

"That's pretty much what Yang said too," I say. "And I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong. I doubt it, considering what she said, but she's never outright confirmed it."

"So maybe it's… not true then?" Ruby shakes her head. "I hate this. This whole thing is just… I mean, Weiss is supposed to be my tutor, not… whatever this is."

"Complicated," I say, a mirthless smile pulling at my lips.

Ruby chuckles, just as the door to the office opens.

Taiyang steps through, followed closely by Summer. Both have the same look of worry in their eyes as they dance over the two of us and onto Mrs. Lavender, who stands up the moment they arrive.

"Mr. and Mrs. Xiao Long?" she says, before glancing down at her desk. "Err, Yang's parents?"

Summer nods. "That's us. What's happening?"

Just as she finished speaking, another man steps through the door. He's shorter than either of them, and thinner. His hair is nearly snow white, except for a few faint traces of grey at the roots.

As if he wasn't blinding enough, he's clad head to toe in white formal wear, save for a burst of a dark blue dress shirt peeking out from his jacket.

"That is a very good question."

* * *

The one thing everyone's surprised about the first time they walk into Ozpin's office is how sparse it is.

There's no pictures on the wall, no certifications of education or awards granted. It has a window looking out over the field behind our school, and a computer, resting on his desk, which is a plain, oak-looking lump of wood.

The bright side of the simplicity is ample free room, which is helpful when there's eight people in the small office.

Yang and Weiss are still seated in chairs in front of Ozpin's desk, where the man himself sits. Summer and Taiyang stand next to Yang, while the man in the white suit— Mr. Schnee, he introduced himself as—stands next to Weiss. Ruby and I are beside Tai, who put a hand on Ruby's shoulder and hasn't moved it since.

It's not cozy.

"Preposterous," Mr. Schnee says, laying a hand on Weiss's shoulder. Weiss doesn't react. "My little girl would _never_ do anything as barbaric as striking someone. Especially not during school."

Yang snorts. "Yeah, sure. I got this bruise from a toilet paper roll. Nasty little thing."

Taiyang glares at her. "Yang…"

Mr. Schnee grip on Weiss's shoulder tightens. "Young lady, I don't know who you think you are, but I will not let you sit there and _slander_ my daughter—!"

"Unfortunately, Mr. Schnee," Ozpin says, clasping his hands on the desktop. "Weiss's actions today are not in question. We have multiple witnesses, including Ms. Belladonna and Ms. Rose, who can and have verified the events."

He narrows his eyes. "The only reason you're here, to be honest, is because school policy prohibits me from allowing Weiss to return home without her guardian present."

Mr. Schnee's face turns pale.

Surprisingly, Weiss responds first. "I'm suspended?"

Ozpin nods. "For two weeks."

Weiss's eyes flicker towards Yang, then Ruby, before she nods.

"So you admit it?" Mr. Schnee asks.

Weiss shuts her eyes, before giving a barely perceptible nod.

Mr. Schnee lets out a quite sigh.

"Very well," he says, hand leaving Weiss's shoulder and going behind his back. "I will ensure she does not fall behind during her suspension—nor will she enjoy it."

He turns to Taiyang and Summer. "Perhaps you would care to tell me how you plan on handling your daughter's transgression? To keep things fair, you understand."

Taiyang blinks. "What?"

"Yang's not being suspended," Summer says, glancing at her daughter.

"Oh?" Mr. Schnee turns to Ozpin. "Explain that to me, then. As I was aware, _both_ parties involved in an altercation on school grounds were to face the same consequences."

"Hey, I didn't do anything!" Yang says, leaning out of her chair. "She hit me!"

"You fought, did you not?"

Yang pauses. "Not… really. I mean, we were kinda… arguing, but it wasn't a fist fight or anything."

Mr. Schnee sneers. "Of course not."

He turns towards Ruby and I. "You're one of the witness, correct? Tell me, is what she says true?"

It takes a moment before I realise he's addressing me, particularly.

I glance at Yang, who's doing her best to look relaxed, but the illusions undone by her white-knuckled grip on her chair's arm rests.

I nod. "Yang and Weiss were… fighting, but it was just an argument."

"Arguments are not against school rules," Ozpin says.

"Oh, don't try to tell me this was just and argument, Professor." Mr. Schnee gestures toward Weiss's face. "Look at her, Ozpin! Does it look like an _argument_ did that!"

Taiyang steps forward. "I don't like what you're implying."

Mr. Schnee turns to him. "And I don't like it when my daughters walks through the front door, wearing someone else's clothes, and nearly _coated_ in her own blood."

"Father, it really wasn't that bad," Weiss says.

"The doctor said it was damn lucky you could still breathe through that," Mr. Schnee snaps, before turning back to Ozpin.

"Listen, if you don't something about _her,"_ he snarls the last word, shooting a hate filled glance at Yang. "I'll handle it myself. Through the courts, if need be."

He looks to Taiyang. "I'm sure we'd all prefer to avoid that. Wouldn't we, _Officer_?"

Taiyang pales.

"Enough."

Ozpin rises from his chair, grabbing his cane as he does so.

"Jacques, I did not call you here to discuss what happened with your daughter. You are not here to defend her, or to help me deal with the situation. You are here because policy demands it. But if you do not cease this belligerent behaviour, you will find just how little _policy_ matters when you threaten my students."

Mr. Schnee steps away from the desk. "My daughter has been assaulted and slandered. Threaten me all you like, but I will not stand by and let this continue."

Ozpin glares, meeting his eyes. "This discussion is over. Yang has committed no wrong doing; therefore, she will not be suspended, serve detention, or any other form of punishment within my control as principle."

Mr. Schnee holds the stare for a moment, then looks away.

"Very well," he says, turning from the desk and walking away. "Come, Weiss. Apparently, you are no longer welcome here."

Weiss shoots a look towards Ruby—who returns it—then stands, following her father's footsteps like a chided puppy.

Mr. Schnee pauses by the door, turning back and looking at Taiyang. "See you soon, Officer."

Summer snorts. "Through a scope, maybe."

Mr. Schnee frowns, then vanishes through the doorway, Weiss following soon after.

For a few moments after they leave, no one moves.

Then Ozpin sighs, resting his cane against his desk and sitting down.

"Yang, Ruby, Blake, if you could wait outside for a moment?" he asks. "There's some matters I need to discuss—privately."

Yang stands. "Like what?"

"Yang, just—go," Taiyang says, his voice brimming with exhaustion. "Please."

"Tai…" Summer says, walking up next to him.

"Ms. Xiao Long—Yang, I promise you, what we're about to discuss is nothing you need to be worried about," Ozpin says, lips curling into a soft smile. "It will only take a moment."

Yang doesn't look comforted by that, but after a moment she relaxes.

"Fine," she says, turning. "I'll just… go wait outside."

With that, she leaves.

"That does include you two, as well," Ozpin says.

Ruby jumps.

"Oh! Right! Um, I'll just—I'll just go, then," she says, glancing at her parent's before quickly leaving the room.

I go to follow her, but just before I leave, Ozpin speaks.

"Ms. Belladonna," he says, voice soft. "Please, try to keep Yang from doing anything too rash, if you could?"

"I'll try," I say, but honestly?

I think it's a bit late for that.


	31. Weiss-9

**So apparently this version of the story was-for whatever reason-missing a few chapters for a while.**

 **I'm pretty sure it's fixed now, but still, I apologize for that. Probably made reading this a touch confusing.**

* * *

 **Weiss**

My father's knuckles are bone white as he drives us home.

I sit still in the passenger seat, arms in my lap. The car's comfortable, of course, with soft seats and rich leather, even if it is a few years past it's time.

The silence is anything but.

I want him to say something, a question, an accusation, _anything_ ¸ just to break the uncertainty, but his lips remain locked until we reach the store.

Several cars are parked along the street, and as we step out, I spot a young man sliding a box into his pocket as he leaves.

I don't let myself feel surprised. Just because something happened at school doesn't mean he can let the business slow down.

It's warmed significantly since this morning, but I can't help a shiver as the wind picks up, pulling at my dress.

"Go upstairs and wait for me," my father says, straightening his jacket. "I had to leave a customer behind to deal with this mess."

My eyes dart down. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Father says. "Not yet, at least."

* * *

I wait on my bed, focusing on the murmur of muffled voices from the shop rather than the cacophony bouncing in my head.

My room helps, in that regard. It's smaller than my father wanted, but there's still money. It's just all behind the walls.

It's white, and although that sounds entirely too vague, it really does summarise it, from the slightly creamy walls to the white and grey speckles of the carpet.

I have a desk, which is an exception, but only so far as beige can be considered an exception. The real colour comes from my textbooks and novels, stacked neatly on a small bookshelf atop the far corner of my desk.

It's smaller than my father wanted, but there's still money. It's just all behind the walls.

The soundproofing's rather nice, honestly. It's quality, so if I'm at home and the store's still open I won't bother anyone downstairs. It's not quite as useful the other way. Throngs of people, even in a relatively small and specialized store, are quite a bit louder than one girl.

I wonder if Yang feels anything from my punch. Did she bruise?

My knuckles are lightly dusted with purple, and even an hour later, they still feel tingly and warm. I can move all my fingers without pain, so I doubt they're broken.

I punched someone.

I've never done that before.

I lay my head against the pillow and shut my eyes.

My head aches. Not just my nose and the area surrounding it, but with a sharp headache, rolling through like waves on the beach. I'm not sure if it's from carrying this stupid brace around, or sheer exhaustion.

I woke up this morning with a plan. Maybe not a great plan. Maybe it had holes the size of cities, but it was something.

Now, here I am, six hours later, and what do I have to show for it? Blake, knowing far more than she should have. Yang, with even more reason to hold a grudge. Me, suspended, and Ruby?

I snort, and though it hurts, I do it again, forcing a dry laugh through my lips.

I'll be lucky if she ever looks at me again.

That was the risk, wasn't it? I could explain, and apologise, but that didn't mean I'd win. That Ruby would forgive me, and we'd just go back to awkwardly figuring each other out.

No. I lost.

Now I had to just, move on. Put her behind me and push forward.

Like it was simple.

* * *

Its twenty minutes before my father enters my room.

He doesn't knock. The door's open, and has been since we arrived, so he just steps in, drapes his jacket on the doorknob and looms over the bed.

I quickly sit up when he enters. The headache's receding, although that's less to do with healing and more with the open bottle of pills sitting on the nightstand. Still, a few lingering echo's pound through my skull before fading away.

For a moment, he doesn't say a word, just staring at me, at my broken face and still too-warm hand.

"You didn't fall."

"I did."

"Don't lie." He sits on the bed, gently and slowly, like it'll break if he moves to fast. "You don't break a nose like that from a fall."

I shift my eyes. "It's what happened."

"And today? Did that girl trip onto your fist?"

I pause, sucking in a breath and letting it out slowly. "No. I… I did hit her."

His lips narrow. "I hope I don't need to tell you that's unacceptable."

I shake my head.

"Then why?" He asks. "Why? Weiss, I'm trying to rebuild a business, _your_ business, eventually. We're not in a position to deal with… this, of all things."

I pull my legs up. "I panicked. It won't happen again."

"It won't happen again." My father shakes his head. "I've heard that in the store. Usually some dumb boy who thinks a lump of rock will forgive all sins. But it doesn't work like that."

"I know," I say. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

I nod.

He gets up, stepping to my desk and running a hand across its surface.

He doesn't look at me. "I'm concerned, Weiss. I… You haven't had any issues for three years. I hoped you were—better, at least."

I grip the sheets. "I am better! Today was—it was just exhaustion and a very long night, I swear."

"Perhaps," he says, finally turning, hands clasped behind his back. "Perhaps not. Either way, I'm scheduling an appointment with Dr. Newall."

He raises a brow. "I trust that isn't an issue, considering your sudden increase in free time?"

I look down. "No, father."

"Good," he says, and then, in a quieter voice, "Good."

He walks out the room, pausing by the doorframe.

"Weiss," he says, voice gentle. "Weiss, look at me, please."

I do, meeting his eyes.

It takes him a moment to speak. "If you think it that… that it would be best if you were to finish your schooling at somewhere else, I'm sure I could… arrange something, if need be."

I shake my head.

"Right," he says, giving his head a shake. "Right, well, I have calls to make. I'll see you at dinner."

He leaves.

A few minutes later, when I'm sure he's gone, I get up and shut the door.

The noise from downstairs finally, truly disappears.

I can hear nothing but my thoughts.


	32. Blake-8

**Blake**

Douglas Adams: _"Writing is easy. You only need to stare at a piece of blank paper until your forehead bleeds."_  
Me: Spends three months smashing face into keyboard.

* * *

It says something about the power of habit that despite all the crap that's happened in the past twenty four hours, I still wind up waiting outside the school's front entrance to drive Yang and Ruby home.

The parking lot's always crowded when school ends, but it clears faster than normal today. Part of that's the clouds rolling across the sky, dark grey and black with the distant roar of thunder heralding their arrival.

Perhaps as a result of that, it only takes a few short minutes for the parking lot to clear, except for the teacher's cars and myself.

Truth be told, I'm just as antsy to be off, if for different reasons.

"Hello Mrs. Rose… Ms. Rose… Summer… Ms. Rose, it's... Hi Summer, I…" I mutter, tapping my fingers against the wheel and watching the front doors of the school like a cat watches a mouse hole.

"Summer, hey—hi, I…" I suck in a breath, imagining her face as I say this. "I… just wanted to apologise—" No, way too much of that today. "I wanted to… I needed to make clear that I regret not informing you of the relations between your daughter and I…"

I whack my head against the steering wheel.

"When this over Yang, I swear, we're spending a weekend in bed," I mutter, before pushing myself back up and continuing to compose my first words to Yang's parents.

It's a complicated process. I need one for Summer, one for Taiyang, one for both of them together, and one if things go sideways and they stumble onto us kissing or something. The last one's the only one I've got, and it depends on whether or not the window's open.

More importantly, my mutterings keep my eyes from slipping to the clock, which is doing its best to mock me with every minute that passes without Yang or Ruby. Since it's now been twenty minutes since school ended, it's got plenty of ammunition.

It's not unusual for the two to be a bit late, especially if they have some sports thing, but I know when those happen and it isn't _now._ Even if it was, the rapidly darkening sky throws some doubt that they would have practise or whatever even if it was scheduled.

Something is going on, I know that much. But there had been so many going on's today that I couldn't be sure this isn't some kind of continuation of one of those. Yang could be in the office, confirming her story with Ozpin or one of the teachers, or discussing things with the counsellor if she managed to snag her before she could leave.

Or maybe she got into a fistfight with Weiss and is now sitting in a police cell.

Either way, there wasn't much I could do.

"Hi Mr. Xiao-Long—at least I know what to call you—I thought I'd… say a few words. Regarding last night and what was… revealed. About me and Yang. Since we're dating. Just thought I'd clarify that, and say I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. We were just… being the kind of idiots who talk to cars."

A roaring peel of thunder breaks my little diatribe and, much as I'm loathe to admit it, makes me jump in my seat.

It seems to be the final push the sky needed, as a sheet of rain pours from the sky. My windshield actually makes a _thud_ as it gets soaked.

On top of all that, the temperature drops by ten degrees. Considering it was only mildly pleasant to begin with, I start shivering.

Now, I _could_ turn the heat on and keep waiting. However, to do that I'd need to actually start the car, instead of just the battery as I have it on now. That would mean I'd just be idling for however long it would take for Yang to finally get out here, and gas isn't exactly cheap.

Taking the middle road, I reach into the back seat and grab a hoodie off the floor. It's not exactly _my_ hoodie, bit too much chest room for that, but it's warm and snuggly and smells exactly like Yang did that night we—

It's nice. That's the point.

Another bolt cracks across the sky, but when I look up it isn't a flash of lightning I see, but the school doors opening.

"Finally," I mutter, opening the car door and stepping into the rain. The hoodie's not exactly a rain coat, but it's thick enough that I don't have to worry about going swimming in the next few minutes.

Yang's not wearing a sweater. She's not wearing a coat. She's wearing the same t-shirt she was this morning, and it's about as water resistant as a dish rag.

Nothing like some motivation to remind me why I've spent the past half hour talking to myself.

Still, clothing aside she doesn't look any better than she did at lunch. I didn't have a chance to speak with her before classes began, but I hoped she'd have a decent day without Weiss there. Guess I was being a bit naïve.

"You want a coat?" I ask when she gets closer. She takes a long look at my own choice of outerwear before giving a tired chuckle.

"Think you're wearing the only thing that'll fit me," she says, popping the passenger door open. "I'll just use the universal option."

"Fine with me." I spare a glance behind her. "Ruby coming?"

She nods. "Saw her in the halls. She's on her way."

Just as she finishes saying that, the school doors open again. Ruby stands in the doorway for a moment, face hidden by her hair and her hood, before she steps into the rain and crosses the distance between us and the school.

"Hey Rubes," Yang says. "Ready to head home?"

Ruby looks up at her, wiping water out of her hair before she looks down again. "I'm not going home."

Yang, and I, take a step back.

"What?" Yang says. "Seriously? Ruby, it's pouring rain. Get in the car, whatever errand you have can wait until tomorrow."

"No, it can't," Ruby says, looking up again. "I'm going to Weiss's place."

The reaction is immediate. Yang grips the roof of my car until I swear her fingernails are digging into the paint. The noise needles into my ears, but the two sisters barely seem to notice.

Ruby pulls her backpack up. "I talked to teachers and got all her assignments she'll miss, so I was gonna just head over and… give them to her…"

"Her assignments," Yang says. "You got her assignments that she's missing 'cause she _punched_ me, and you're just going to… walk over and give them to her, is that right?"

She laughs, long and bitter. "Just gonna walk over and—yeah, yeah okay, sure. Need anything else to bring? My social insurance number? Criminal record? Record of all the shit me and Blake have gotten up to?"

" _Yang_ ," Ruby warns.

Yang steps away from the car, completely ignoring the rain that continues to pelt down. "No, I'm serious. I mean, you can't talk to Weiss without giving something for her to spill, right?"

Ruby's face goes pale. She looks down, hands hanging loosely at her sides.

Yang herself seems frozen. If it weren't for the water dripping off the tips of her hair I'd wonder if was looking at a picture.

I shut the car door and walk around the hood, grabbing Yang's shoulder before turning to Ruby.

"She didn't mean that," I say.

"Yes she did," Ruby says. "And… and she's right. I brought her over. I… told her the things that let her figure this out. And when she told Mom and Dad I… I just stood there. I let her do it."

Yang speaks up. "Yeah, well, that wasn't your best day, for sure."

I elbow her in the sides. She shoots me a look.

"Point is, you made mistakes, yes, but that's all they were. You weren't trying to hurt me or Blake, you just made a few bad calls. It wasn't your fault. It was… _other_ persons who turned things into a shitshow." She smiles a bit. "You're a good sister. I know whatever you did wasn't to hurt me."

Ruby shifts her feet before bunching her hands into fists.

"Weiss is a good person too," she says, firmly.

The smile slips off Yang's face, seemingly settling into a cold pit in my stomach.

"Seriously?" Yang says. " _Seriously?_ Ruby, she isn't some misunderstood loner. She outed me _and_ Blake, and _punched_ me, for crying out loud."

"Yeah, well, you started that one," Ruby says, crossing her arms. "And… she was trying to help. I know she did it really badly and screwed it up and just… really didn't help at all, but, I mean, it's not like we haven't screwed up helping people before, right?"

Yang scoffs, but before she can say anything I step forward.

"You don't understand this," I say, looking at her rain slicked face. "And I know just saying that makes you want to argue but in this case, you really truly _don't."_

A lump lodges in my throat. "The kind of help Weiss wants to give us is… it's not anything that can possibly be considered _good._ The kind of stuff people can do to us— _legally—_ is… it's torture, Ruby."

Ruby looks away. "I—I know that."

I meet her eyes. "No, you don't. You might have researched it until you found out exactly what I'm talking about, you might have read stories from survivors, but you don't _know_. You don't know what's it's like to be afraid of that."

Ruby frowns.

"I know you're thinking Mom and Dad would never do that," Yang says. "I think you're right, now, but before, I… It's not really the kind of stuff you can ask at the dinner table. 'Say, mom, if I was banging that chick I brought over, would you strap me into an electric chair?'"

"She wouldn't," Ruby says. "Neither of them would. Not even if someone put a gun to their head."

Yang lets out a bitter laugh. "Wish I was as certain of that as you are."

Ruby's quiet for a moment after that, before she shakes her head.

"Is that it?" she says. "Is that the whole reason? You're being a jerk just because you're scared of her?"

"I'm being 'a jerk' because of what she's done to me," Yang says, before stepping forward. "Besides, why the hell does this matter? Why are you so dead set on defending her?"

"She's my friend!" Ruby yells.

The moment those words leave her mouth, Ruby seems to reel back, as if she just realised she was about to walk into a wall.

"Because she's…" She raises a hand to her chest. "Because she's still… someone I care about…"

"More than your sister?" Yang asks, voice cracking.

"I…" Ruby takes a shaking breath. "It's not… it's not simple, Yang, I—"

"Yeah, whatever." Yang turns around and opens the car door. "Go then. I don't care. And even if it did, it clearly doesn't matter."

She steps in and slams the door shut, rocking the car from side to side as the suspension adjusts.

"I…" Ruby murmurs. Her shoulders slump as the strength that carried her through the tensest conversation I've ever seen between the sisters vanishes.

Sometimes I forget that she's so much younger than I am.

"Ruby, she didn't—" I begin, but Ruby walks past without acknowledging either me or Yang in the car.

When she reaches the edge of the parking lot, rather than going left and towards her house, she takes a right.

I watch for another moment before I get in the car.

* * *

 **(Note, this does not actually happen. Exactly. It doesn't _exactly_ happen.)**

Blake: So, I know we just had a super sad moment there and you're probably really depressed, buuuut can we stop somewhere so I can... eat you? For an hour?

Yang: How in the hell are you in the mood?

Blake: Look down.

Yang: ...My shirt is paint.

Blake: Exactly.


	33. Ruby-8

**Ruby**

Okay, so maybe hiking halfway across town in the middle of a rainstorm wasn't my best idea ever.

The rain hasn't slowed down since I left school, but it does seem to be getting steadily colder with each minute that passes. I pull my soaked sweater tighter around my shoulders, trying to hold on to whatever warmth it's got left.

It doesn't help much, not when most of the cold is coming from inside.

I can't help but hold Yang's face in my mind the entire walk. Watching her face slip from angry and annoyed to… to…

Lost. Broken.

I've never seen her like that. Didn't know she _could_ look like that. And with each step, the knowledge that _I_ did that to her scrapes against my heart.

A part of me wants to rush home and take it back, convince her to forget everything and just carry on as normal, but I can't.

I can't ignore what else is in my heart.

Still, by the time I finally get to Weiss's house/store, I'm starting to wish I had at least grabbed an umbrella.

The storefront's open now, and I have to admit, it looks way less scary when the lights are on and I can see actual people. Not Weiss, no, not even her dad. No one I recognise.

There is, however, a lot of diamonds.

Diamond rings, diamond necklaces, diamond earrings, diamond… miniature dumbbells, and just plain diamonds. All cased in white boxes, with a prominent snowflake on the sides.

In fact, there's snowflakes everywhere. On the floor as a giant mural, one on each wall, a frosted outline of one on the window I'm looking through. The one's inside are thick outlines, set onto a seemingly endless room of white.

It _looks_ expensive, in that way only something completely clean can. Like dirt isn't just washed off, but never allowed to touch.

I look down at my ratty shoes, grass-stained jeans and soaked through sweater.

"Now all I need is a ski-mask and bag," I mutter.

Still, I came this far, carrying twice my normal load of homework, and it's still flipping raining, so…

So I'm going in.

I close my eyes, swallow, and enter the building.

A ringing bell heralds my entrance, drawing the attention of a man talking to another man. He's wearing some kind of black suit vest thingy over a white shirt, with the same snowflake I've seen on every other surface on the back. His head is missing most of his hair, but he doesn't look all that old.

Definitely younger than a hundred.

He finishes the conversation with the other man before striding confidently towards me.

"Can I help you, miss?" he asks, smiling lightly.

"I, um, uh…"

I swallow.

"Weiss… lives here, right? Weiss Schnee?" I ask.

His smile wavers. "Yes, she does. In the upstairs apartment." He glances at the man he was talking to before I came in, who's staring at few ring boxes like they're about to eat him. "What business do you have with Miss Schnee?"

"I just have some of her assignments," I say, pulling my backpack off and unzipping it. "Some of the stuff's she's going to miss since she… um, you know…"

The man sighs. "Yes, her little altercation."

The man at the rings turns around. "Um, sir? Could you tell me the price of this one again?"

"I'll be with you in a moment, sir!" Baldy (What? I needed a name, and he _is_ balding) says.

He looks down at me with a serious eye. "At the back of the storefront, there is a door. Enter it, take the stairs on the left, and knock on the door at the top. Miss Schnee will answer."

I nod, clutching the backpack to my chest.

I step past him and walk towards the door. Before I can open it, he calls out to me again. "Young lady!"

I turn.

Something flashes across his face, and although I'm ninety percent sure it's just the lighting, his eye colour seems to change from brown to a… I don't know, a yellowy brown?

(I don't know colours)

"Are you here solely for those books in your bag, or is it also for their recipient?" he asks.

I look down.

"I… I mean, Weiss is my… friend, if that's what you're asking." I say.

He seems pleased with that answer, smiling and nodding.

"Have a good day, young lady," he says; turning back to the customer he was helping before.

That's probably means I can go.

I turn around and walk through the door he mentioned.

Thankfully, whoever decorated the back of the store acknowledged that colours aside from white exist. There isn't really much here, just a short hallway and the stairs that guy mentioned, but the walls are coffee coloured _,_ the floors a shade darker brown.

At the end of the hallway is a door. I can barely hear small snippets of conversation from behind it, something about prices and contracts. The voice, if I remember correctly from this afternoon, is Weiss's father.

A lump lodges in my throat.

Let's hope he stays busy until I'm gone.

I take the stairs up and knock on the door at the top.

I wait a few seconds.

I knock again.

There's a muted thump behind the door, followed by footsteps that grow louder until the door swings open.

"I'm not sure how you got past Klein, but this isn't part of the—" Weiss starts.

I raise a hand. "Hi Weiss."

Weiss's mouth drops open, gaping like a fish before she slams it shut.

"R-Ruby, you're—you're here," she says.

I shrug. "I got some school stuff from the… school." My face grows hot. "I mean, of course it's from the school, since, you know, it is school stuff, but I—"

I stop, and push my backpack towards her. "Outermost pocket."

Weiss, slowly, grabs the handle of my bag and pulls it towards her.

A few seconds past, with her staring down, and me trying to look at anything but her.

"Do you want to come in?" she asks, quietly. "I—I'm afraid I don't have anything in the way of food or video games or anything that would make it worthwhile for you, and of course you probably don't _want_ to be here; I'm not sure why I offered, honestly—"

"Weiss."

She stops and looks up.

I step in, and close the door behind me.

* * *

It's pretty clear whoever designed the storefront also designed the apartment.

White isn't quite as dominant as it was down there, but it clearly has not given up without a fight. The walls are painted a slightly warmer hue of what the walls were downstairs, and without the snowflakes.

What little I see of the kitchen before Weiss whisks me away to her room shows a mix of chrome appliances, white cupboards, and single splash of red from the apple sitting on the granite counter.

The floor's wood, which is the only thing that tells me this is supposed to be a home, and not a hospital ward.

I mean, seriously, that's what this place reminds me of. A freaking hospital, except instead of drugs they give out jewels and gold.

And is owned by some old dude in a suit.

Weiss's room, when she opens her door and leads me in with a nervous apology for the "mess," is a bit different.

Colour scheme's the same, sure, but the books piled on the desk—mainly textbooks, but I spot a few titles from English and the library—along with the closet full of clothes and unmade sheets break the sterile feeling the rest of the building has.

Without looking back at me, Weiss crosses the room and closes the blinds on her window.

It's still not dark, even with half the light blocked, but it feels a little more private, now that no one can watch us.

Weiss turns around, holding her hands tightly at her front.

"You can just hang your hoodie on the door knob, if it's too wet," she says.

"Oh, um, thanks," I say, doing as she said. My shirt is nowhere near as wet as wet as my hoodie is, but it still clings a bit as I pull my sweater off.

Weiss looks away. "I didn't expect to see you today."

I shrug, turning around draping my sweater over her doorknob.

It falls.

I bend down and pick it up, trying to hang it on the frustratingly small knob. "The school had stuff for you, and they needed _someone_ to deliver it. I knew the route, didn't have anything else after school, and I was, kinda sorta looking for an excuse anyways, so-"

Weiss cuts me off. "I meant I didn't expect to see you, Ruby. Ever."

She pauses. "I didn't expect you to _want_ to see me."

I stop, hoodie lying on the floor, before turning to face her.

"Yang and I fought over it," I say, my gaze low. "I told her just after school. She isn't… she isn't taking this well, and I think I made it worse, but I…"

I look up, catching Weiss's eyes as they widen, her arms as they jerk before turning statue still.

"I had to," I say, swallowing as my throat goes dry. "I had to come, and ask you."

"Ask me what?" Weiss asks.

I swallow again.

"You're gay, aren't you?"

The room goes deathly silent.

"Close the door," Weiss says, monotone.

I do so without turning.

Weiss swallows. "I… I suppose the answer depends, to an extent, on your own personal viewpoint. Do you consider those who have went through the AA program to still be alcoholics?"

"Um—"

Weiss shakes her head. "Stupid question, I know, it's just—I was. I won't deny that. Or can't, really."

She meets my eyes. "But I'm not now, I can swear you that."

I step closer. "Who you love doesn't really seem like the kinda thing that changes."

"But it i _sn't_ love," Weiss snaps. "Not the real kind, at least."

"I'm not here to argue about that." I keep walking towards her, until I'm close enough to reach out and take her hand.

She doesn't struggle, doesn't really do much at all as I guide us down onto her bed.

And fall, a little, into the softness of her mattress.

"There's a lot I don't know about you, Weiss," I say, relaxing my grip enough that Weiss could, if she wanted to, slip out. She doesn't. "But from what I've heard, and seen, none of it seems to be good."

Weiss snorts. "My father didn't beat me as a child, if that's what you're asking."

"What? No!" I pause. "Well, I wasn't until _now,_ at least—but no, I meant…"

I shrug. "On the first day we knew each other, you bought a whole bunch of new clothes just to go to the arcade with me, and your dad shows up to the school and threatens to sue my parents and… it's just…"

I trail off, eyes dropping to our hands, still lightly coiled together on the surface of the bed. I'm not sure Weiss has even noticed.

Screw it.

I lean forward, wrapping my arms around Weiss in a tight hug. She squeaks, and I can feel her heart hammering like a jackhammer on meth.

"You're always so lonely and afraid, and I… I don't know _why,_ Weiss. I don't know why, and I can't help you if I don't know _why,"_ I say into her shoulder. The fabric of her dress muffles my words, but I know she hears me.

I know because a second later, she extracts herself from my hug, stands up, and walks to her desk. Facing the wall, she leans against it, legs quivering like even that is too much to bear.

"When I told you I never had a friend before," she says. "I wasn't quite being entirely honest."

She turns to look at me.

"I had a girlfriend."


	34. Weiss's flashback (Part 1 of 3)

**(Three years earlier)**

I stared at the doorknob with the same kind of apprehension you'd give to a nuclear bomb.

It wasn't as if it deserved that kind of treatment. It was nothing more than a lump of brass and steel, held together by screws and springs. It hadn't done anything.

However, it was a far easier target of my fears than the lump in my throat and the seemingly endless storm within my head.

At that moment, I stood in front of my closed bedroom door. Not the one we're sitting in now, one in a far different house during a far different time. It looked roughly the same style, white walls with white trim and largely white or blue furniture. But I had lived in for years more and it showed. I had posters up. Books scattered across shelves and desks. A few toys and dolls I certainly no longer played with and kept only for sentimental value. Clothes were… well, not exactly lying wherever I'd thrown them, but certainly not quite as organised as what I have today.

The most pertinent difference, although one that wasn't exactly a constant, was the company I had at the time.

"It won't be any easier in twenty minutes," Winter said. She sat in my desk chair, still dressed in the same fancy dress shirt and pants she returned from college in. The outer jacket was the only thing missing, lurking in her closet.

"Won't be any harder, either," I shot back, smoothing out my dress for the thousand and twelfth time. "Maybe I'll think of an easier way to do it."

Winter shook her head. "There is no easier way. You can either do it, or let it fester under your skin for the rest of your life."

"It's not like it's some sort of pox," I muttered.

Winter sighed, before rising and crossing the room, until she stood behind me. A hand reached out and settled on my shoulder.

"It's going to be okay, Weiss," she said, gripping my shoulder.

I huffed. "Of course it will be. I'm doing it."

"Then why are you stalling?"

"I—I'm not stalling!" I sputtered, spinning to face her. I had to look a fair ways up, since Winter hogged all of the height genes. "I'm just—considering the best method of communicating."

"Mm-hmm."

"Really, I am."

"Right."

Her eyes burrowed into my own, staring it turned from uncomfortable to downright painful.

Eventually, I gave up, looking away before sighing.

"I… I think being nervous about this sort of this is allowable," I said. "I… I can barely figure out what to say. What do I do if he gets angry, or Mother does, or if anything _else_ goes wrong?"

Winter pursed her lips. "Then… you remember you already have someone in your camp. I'll be there for you every step of the way. No matter what happens."

"Until you go back to college," I said.

Winter rolled her eyes. "I didn't mean literally."

"Oh, but who's going to catch me when he whips out the cane and breaks my legs?" I said, laughing, but stopped quite quickly. "Or if he sends me away or locks me in a madhouse or—"

Winter crouched down, grabbing my other shoulder and looking me straight in the eye. "I wouldn't let happen, Weiss. Ever. Neither would Mother."

"You'd try," I said, looking away. "But I'm not sure you could."

She grabbed my chin and forced me to look at her. "You have the same right to happiness and love as anyone else, and he _can't_ take that away. No one can, as long as you don't let them."

The words struck a chord in me, the same way they had the last ten times she gave me this same pep talk.

"Right," I said, then again with much more conviction. "Right. Okay, yes. I can do this."

I turned around, grabbed the doorknob and flung the door open.

"I'm Weiss Schnee," I whispered to myself. "I can do anything."

* * *

"I'm gay."

My family froze.

My family. Right, you've only met my father. Well, that night was something of a rarity, as everyone was sitting at the dining room table, so I suppose this is as good a time as any to introduce them.

At the head of the table, opposite of where I stood sat my mother and my father. My father was largely the same—younger, of course, and he looked it—but my mother… well, my mother was there, so I suppose that's a rather large difference.

People have compared me to her in looks before, as has Winter, but she's never looked like either of us to me. She's taller than I, shorter than Winter, who stood taller than some men did. She had a classical beauty, like a classic painting, although older than most of the ones I've seen.

My sister, who had only entered a few minutes before I did, sat to her right, past the corner of the table. Like I mentioned, tall, same colour of hair as I have, and determined, in every moment of her life.

Across from her was my brother and his high chair. He was as young as that implied, and was more interested in the goop that passed for food on his plate than anything his big sister said.

My father was the first to recover. "If this is your idea of a joke, young lady…"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, of course. I'm making a joke of it because I'm so certain it will end well for me."

Mother set her water glass down. "Don't talk to your father like that. It's… it's a legitimate question."

"Only so long as he's willing to accept the answer," I snapped back.

"Which is?" Father asked.

I looked to him. "I am gay, Father. This isn't a prank. I've spent a great deal of time thinking this through, and I… I can't lie to myself or you any longer."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Winter giving me a toothless smile.

I caught my mother's eye again. "This doesn't have to change anything. I… I'm not any different than I was before. I'm still your daughter. I'm just being honest to you about who that is."

"And it isn't going to change anything, is it?" Winter said, pushing out a chair next to her. "Sit down, Weiss, before the food goes cold."

I gladly took her offer, nearly collapsing onto the wooden seat.

"Of course it won't change anything," Father said, leaning towards me. "Because my daughter is being ridiculous."

"And you!" He said, pointing to Winter. "You're encouraging her pathetic little game? I thought we raised you better than that."

"This isn't a game, father—" Winter began.

"Enough!" Father yelled, slamming his arms against the table and rattling every dish. "I don't want to hear another word out of your mouth tonight."

He turned to me. "Weiss, I'm giving you one last chance. This is _not_ a game you want to play with us."

"I—I'm not playing at anything!" I said. I looked to Mother. "I've meant every word I've said."

Mother clasped her hands atop the table top. "Of course you are, but…" She glanced at Father. "You're only fourteen, Weiss. Not to dismiss your intelligence, but how certain are you of this? How do know this isn't simply some… fleeting fantasy of yours?"

I huffed. "Well, I suppose I could tell all the _wonders_ of Leia's costume, and how I've spent so many nights exploring myself while thinking of it… _or_ you could just take my word."

Mother's face went pale as a scared ghost's, while my father seemed ready to jump into a lake and let fate take over.

Thankfully, Klein—the man you met downstairs, and, yes, he was our butler. Stop laughing—came in at that moment, carrying a tray of plates. Any retort my parents had was cut off as he set a plate for each of us, except for Whitley, of course, who my mother had already fed to keep him quiet.

No, I have no idea what we ate that night. It's been years, and quite frankly, I've had other things to worry about.

My father glowered at me the entire time. I remember feeling quite happy at that, just knowing I managed to get something under his skin. Childhood idiocy.

Once Klein left, (sharing a glance with my sister just before he did so) my father spoke up again.

"It's preposterous," he said, holding a knife in his left hand as he stared at me. "No matter what fantasies you have, that's all they are, and all they ever will be. Preposterous fantasies."

He sawed at his food, far more aggressively than anything short of an actual log would require. "I'm sure you'll come to your senses in time."

"Who I love isn't the kind of thing that will change _in time,_ " I snapped.

"Of course not," he muttered. "Because you are the ultimate arbiter on what _love_ even means."

I glared at him, entertaining the thought of leaping across the table and punching the smug look of his face until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Ignore him," Winter whispered. "They'll swing around. Just eat."

I wanted to growl at her, (I was _fourteen,_ okay?) but instead, I followed her instructions and ate.

Yet I couldn't stop thinking about what he said, the sheer surety in his words. It made my blood boil. There was nothing I wanted more than to wipe that smug smile off his face.

So I made a plan.

* * *

I didn't go to a public school back then. No, that was for people who couldn't afford private cooks.

My school, Atlas Academy was exactly as you would imagine any private school, and yet it was also very different. Make no mistake; it was full of the snooty, richer-and therefore-holier-than-thou types that you expect. We had to wear uniforms resembling a nun's outfit more than actual clothes, and the bathrooms looked like someone with an actual sense of colour coordination had painted them.

But it was also still a school. The teachers worked us hard, we learned a great deal… and there was always outcasts.

Being rich, after all, had its own set of informal rules you had to follow. You didn't have to follow all of them, of course. Following the latest fashion was only for those who had the time and didn't believe in washing machines. Liking a certain band mattered less than not playing the stupid ones at lunch, and as long as you weren't running for prom queen or student council, a certain degree of deviancy was tolerated.

I fit in that little group, if uncomfortably. In that regard, my friendlessness was not exaggerated. Being both somewhat terrible at social interaction and filthy rich leads to a great deal of people who honestly couldn't care less about _you,_ but rather the dollar signs following you.

Still, I had Winter, so I didn't need much else.

Still, loosely enforced or not, there was rules, and so was there rule breakers. Memorable ones, as is inevitable with those who so wildly break the mold.

We had our usual groups. Stoners, hippies, possible gang members, someone I keep half-expecting to pop up on the news for human sacrifice, crackheads… and people like me.

Or, rather, people like me who refused to hide themselves from anyone. Most were boys, but there was one girl. Just one.

Her name was Clara Areto. She was an outlier of outliers, discussed in hushed whispers between and during classes, if discussed at all.

I knew little of her past rumor. She was at least two years older than I was, despite sharing a grade. She smoked, drank, and wore a leather jacket when it got cold enough, along with ripped jeans and boots. Anywhere else, that would get her the title of delinquent.

Here, since she also had short, brown hair and a noticeable lack of boyfriends, it got her the title of lesbian.

Normally I wouldn't give much credence to those types of tales. I'd been on the receiving end of similar stories—don't look so glum, it happens to everyone—and knew just how little they held in common with reality. But I needed to believe that day.

I didn't know anyone like me, and I certainly couldn't just go around and ask. Those rumors were the only lead I had.

So, the day after I came out, I approached the abandoned corner of the schools front yard, where I knew her to frequent.

Yes, my school had a yard, which nearly everyone called a forest on account of the trees. There was benches and pathways, and more than once in the summer and spring we had classes interrupted by a lawnmower or weed whacker. Or a fleet of them.

Once we had a tree fall on the building. Made quite a mess.

Still, even with all that attention, you could still find some quiet corners away from windows and the parking lot. The grass remained short only due to lack of sunlight and rain. Rodents and birds served to clean up litter; everything else was left to rot.

I approached one of these corners, one near the gym and therefore at the other end of the yard. It wasn't a prime spot. Too little shade, too much wind, and unlike the other corners claimed by the delinquents and the drug addicts, teachers could sometimes see into it from the parking lot.

I, however, happened to know it was also the hiding spot of Clara

I had… _accidently_ followed her one day, a few weeks before, and considered talking to her about said rumors, but I talked myself out of it.

That day, I walked straight up to her.

She raised a brow as I drew close, but otherwise continued as normal, pulling a long drag off her cigarette before pulling it out of her mouth and tapping ash off the end.

"Morning, Ice Queen," she said, once I got close enough. "Looking to buy some shit? Cause I ain't selling."

(Yes, I know. People still call me that. It happens when your name translates to "White Snow.")

(Well, loosely)

"Not exactly," I said, before straightening out my dress and looking her straight in the eye. "I'm asking you out on a date."

Her jaw dropped, briefly, before snapping it shut and letting out a harsh laugh.

"Wow," she said. "Wow. Okay, wow. Never really took you for a girl to get mixed up in all this. Okay, seriously, who was it? Devin? It was Devin, wasn't it?"

I scowled and crossed my arms. "No one put me up to this, I—I'm genuinely asking you out on a date."

Another laugh, but this only lasted a few seconds before she stopped and just looked at me.

She stuck the cigarette back in her mouth, the tip glowing bright orange.

"Little girl dyke just figured herself out, huh?" she said, a wry smile to her lips.

"Don't call me that," I snapped.

"Is it true?" she asked.

I sighed. "Well… yes, but, still. Not exactly a word I'd prefer to have targeted towards myself."

She pulled the cigarette out of her mouth and breathed out, pushing a cloud of foul smelling smoke into my face.

"You don't get to dictate terms, not here, not if you're what you say you are. Other people are going to call you whatever the fuck they want," she said, eyes glued to the pulsating ring of fire around the edge of her cigarette.

She looked up. "So, you a dyke? Or just a pussy?"

"Well, if we're going by those standards," I said, rolling my eyes. "Then, I suppose, I am a… dyke."

I narrowed my eyes. "Or a lesbian. Or a gay girl."

"Yeah, whatever," she said, throwing her cigarette on the ground and stomping it. "So, you want a date."

I shrugged, lowering my arms. "Yes, preferably. Although if you want to go through the run-around of determining whether it's a _date_ or a _romantic outing_ , then…"

She chuckled. "Think I had my fun."

The school bell rang, startling a mess of birds out from the canopy.

Clara stepped forward, grabbing my shoulder and leaning towards my ear.

"Six o'clock," she said, breath hot on my skin. "I'll pick you up at your McMansion. I know where it is. Wear something… short, and tight. Please."

I shuddered, partly from her proximity, partly from the still lingering smell of tobacco on her breath and partly from the implications of her knowing where I lived.

What? It's not like I had my address stamped to my forehead.

"I—I don't really have much that's 'tight and short,'" I said.

She shrugged. "You'll find something. Or maybe nothing? I could live with that."

She laughed, hard, and then walked off, noticeably not in the direction of the school's entrance.

I should have followed her example—in movement, not direction—but instead I stood there for a moment longer, running my hands up and down my sleeves.

It wasn't like I was _afraid_ of her, by any stretch. She didn't belong to any gang, didn't dose herself with anything more dangerous than alcohol, and didn't really get into any fights, either.

I knew she wasn't straight—that one I had just confirmed. I knew she didn't have many previous relationships, or anyone she really talked to. I knew she didn't do all that well in school.

I had nothing but the outline of a shape, and no way of knowing whether my next step would find solid ground—or if I would fall.

"What have I gotten myself into?" I whispered, getting only caws in reply.

It would have been easier—and not to mention better—if I changed my mind right then. Went to school, went home, ignored Clara if she showed, and put my life back to normal.

I was tempted, for a moment.

But my head was filled with my father's words, his face, his attitude, his sheer, "I'm an adult and I know better than you."

Stupid? Ungodly so. But I was young and dumb, and so, when I finally got moving towards class, I spent the whole walk browsing through my mental closet.

* * *

I remember it being cold that night, cold, dark, and honestly just a fair bit creepy.

Like Clara asked, when six o'clock rolled around, I waited for her on the front steps of my house wearing the closest thing I could find to her instructions. I didn't really have much that fit "tight," and short was a no go from the start.

What I did manage to find, after a few hours combing through my closest, was a dress I wore just a few months prior to a recital. It wasn't short, no, but it was a more mature design than most of my formal clothes, which dated to when I was younger. It cupped my chest quite well, and although the skirt trailed past my knees, it at least showed _some_ skin.

What? I knew what she after. I'm not an idiot.

I wasn't sure how she'd like the colour—a blue gradient that shifted from dark to light as it went down—but to be frank, I did.

Jewelry, at least, was simpler. I threw on some basic diamond earing and a necklace. I didn't usually wear jewelry, but I figured for a date I should at least try.

It took a while for Clara to actually get there. I kept straightening my dress, worried I looked like I jumped into a potato sack. Winter wasn't there to give me any encouragement, as she had already left for college, and my father was…

Not an option.

In the end, I could only wait for Clara.

I heard her car long before I saw it, in the form of a deep thumping noise I recognised as part of a popular song. Then a pair of headlights popped into view down the road, and a few seconds later a van that looked straight out of Scooby-doo rolled up.

The passenger window rolled down in bursts, slowly revealing Clara's head. She looked a touch more put together than this morning. It was hard to tell in the dark, but she seemed to be waring some light makeup near her eyes and cheeks, and had her hair brushed. Her clothes were barely changed from earlier today, still jeans and a shirt, covered by a jacket, but nicer variants, with a fewer holes.

She took a long look at me, eyes lingering on my chest and legs.

"Nice," she said, grinning widely. "Little fancy, but nice."

"Is this your car?" I asked, crossing my arms. Her eyes flickered back up.

"Not exactly," she said, before reaching an arm out and banging the side of the van.

On cue, the side of the van opened up, sliding left as a man stepped out. I barely remember what he looked like, except he was tall, and old, and I could see four more just like him sitting in the van.

Well, old to a fourteen year old.

I looked back to Clara, scowling. "I thought you said _you_ would pick me up, not you and your band of… of… who are they, exactly?"

Clara shrugged. "Acquaintances who happen to be going to the same place."

"Great," I muttered. Then, louder, "Should I leave my jewels in a pile, then, or would they prefer to tear them off themselves?"

Clara's smile slipped into a frown.

The man who opened the door responded first. "Easy there, princess. I'm not here for trouble, and none of my friends are either, right?"

A whoop came from inside the van, loud enough that I shot glance towards the house to make sure my father didn't hear it.

"Fine, fine," I said, holding up my hands. "I'll go sit with all your sweaty, old, gross guy friends, sure."

I glared up at the man holding the door. "But if you touch me in any way, I will bite your hand off."

Clara barked out a laugh.

"Relax, Weiss," she said, a giggle still on her breath. "These guys have _no_ interest in that."

That's when I finally fit the pieces together.

"…oh."

"Took you long enough," the man said, jerking his head towards the door. "Get in and sit down. I'd recommend holding onto something. This hunk of junk corners like an 18-wheeler."

I did as he said, stepping into the van and taking a free seat right next to the door. He stepped in behind me and shut the door, before sitting next to a man across from me.

A muted thump rang from the front, and I felt myself lurch backwards as the van picked up speed.

Off to whatever misadventures Clara had planned for me.

* * *

Let me tell you, sitting in a van filled with stinky, sweaty men is _never_ enjoyable.

Add to that the omnipresent stench of smoke, drink, and vomit, and you have one of the worst driving experiences I've ever had.

By the time the van finally stopped, I was so happy to get outside that I wouldn't have minded if Clara had dragged me to the city dump.

Where we were wasn't much better.

We had parked just next to an alleyway, and although to this day I'm still not sure where she dragged me to, it was certainly a long way from my house. Tall buildings blocked the sky in every direction I could look, and when I looked down a rat scurried across the sidewalk in front of my feet.

Yes, of course I jumped. I thought it was about to bite me.

The men from inside the van quickly paired off and walked into the alley, from which I could hear voices and music.

Clara stepped out of the car, scanned the horizon like she expected to see something, before pulling a cigarette to her mouth and lighting it.

I crossed my arms, this time to ward off a chill as the wind picked up. "This is it?"

She nodded, end of her cigarette glowing as she took a deep breath. "Just down this alley. Not the fanciest of places, but it's got a charm."

I stepped past her, staring down the alley she mentioned. Bottles, bags, and butts littered the ground, some still smoking from their last users. I saw half-scrawled words and threats on the walls, except where rotting posters hung.

"I don't think we agree on what _charming_ means," I said.

Clara tossed her cigarette to the ground and looped her arm around mine.

"Relax," she said, leaning in. "Seriously, relax. Get too uptight and people might think you're a cop."

"That would be bad?"

She shrugged. "Depends."

"On what?"

"How bulletproof you are."

I swallowed. Suddenly it seemed just that much colder.

Clara took in my expression for a moment before her lips broke out into a wide grin. "Kidding. Worst anyone will do is kick you out. Just don't act like a stuck-up bitch and you'll be fine."

"Good to know you set the bar low," I muttered.

Clara gave no sign of hearing me as she led me down the alley, keeping a firm grip on my arm.

It didn't exactly get any cleaner, but it did get brighter when we came close to a door. Above it was a glowing blue, pink and yellow sign proudly spelling, "The CIRCLE."

All caps, yes.

We didn't linger. Clara opened the door and pulled me inside.

The sheer blast of heat caught me off guard, followed by the sudden hammer blow as music loud enough to cause avalanches crashed into my skull.

Then I caught sight of the people.

This wasn't a large room by any stretch, and a stage took up a good chunk of it. Nonetheless, nearly the entire floor was filled with dancers, men and women swaying in tune to the monstrously loud noise. Not together, but in separate groups, each clustered tightly together.

I looked away, towards the darker corners and tables. Most were unoccupied, but those that weren't had couples—same gender—pressed against each other as tightly as possible, or otherwise engaged in… couplely behaviour. More men than women, but still plenty of both.

I couldn't do much more than stand and stare. It wasn't because I was... w-well, you know, _saving_ the images or anything, just sheer… shock, I guess.

The fact that I _liked_ girls hadn't really registered with me beyond dealing with what others would think. I know it was a bit stupid, considering I went there with a date, but it was the first time I realised part of that would mean others would look at me and not see something weird to accept or ignore, but something they might _like._

It was a quietly profound moment, and at the time, I couldn't help but feel a bit grateful towards Clara for letting me experience it.

Aside from that, the place was a mess. My shoes stuck to the floor like fly paper, and I didn't dare touch the walls in case I caught something nasty. I took short, shallow breaths, avoiding the thick scent of smoke and sweat the pervaded the air. Even as revelation washed over my skin, I felt the need for a dozen showers.

Clara either misread my disgust or ignored it, as she pulled me to a table at the far end of the room. The music quieted slightly, enough for ringing to make up for the lost sound until my ears adjusted.

The table was booth style, and round. We each took a seat across from each other, the slippery, shiny seats wheezing at our weights.

"So," Clara drawled. "What'd you think of the place so far?"

I placed my hands in my lap, at first, then moved them to the table top when I realised how close I placed them to the bottom of the table, which was covered in gum, food, and god knows what else.

"It's certainly… distinct," I said, glancing around.

Clara shrugged. "It grows on you. As long as you don't shower afterword."

I scowled. "Thank you for that lovely mental image."

She chuckled, pulling yet another cigarette from her pocket and bringing it up to the table. This time, however, she didn't light it, holding it instead above the table, rolling her thumb across the surface.

A ghost of a frown crossed her face. "Not many places like this in town. Places that won't kick a girl out after she kisses a gal."

"True," I admitted. "I'm just saying, we could have gone to a park or something…"

"Maybe," Clara said, eyes flicking down for a moment, and then back to mine.

She leaned back, adopting a look of pure contentment, even as her fingers continued to rub against the cigarette. "So, Ice Queen, this here is where we're supposed to ask each other about ourselves. So, tell me something."

"Well," I began, tapping my hands on the table. "Well, my father owns the Schnee Diamond Company. I'm sure you've heard of that. I'm supposed to inherit it when he retires—"

"—but, secretly, the idea of running that company makes you hurl," Clara said, cutting me off. "In truth, you desire nothing more than to follow your dream, screw what your dad thinks! You want to… I don't know; be a superhero, save all the girls, maybe fuck all the girls too, just to make the idiot squirm."

She smirked. "Am I right?"

My face burned.

"I… I don't want a _harem!_ " I whispered, with a hysterical edge on each word.

"Nah, but you do want to kick his little job offering right in his teeth."

I frowned, but couldn't really argue the point. I've obviously changed my mind _now_ , but back then I resented my father's offer—or demand, I suppose—that I be the one to take over, rather than him selling ownership, despite the profit it could make him.

I didn't understand the sacrifice he was making for me.

"I meant stuff that _doesn't_ gel with the whole, 'pretty little corporate princess' crap," Clara continued.

"I'm gay," I said, immediately.

She eyed me. "That could be something, yeah."

I looked down, biting my lip.

"What about you?" I asked, finally. "Anything about you that contradicts your tough, rebel, lesbian biker… thing?"

Clara's smirk died as her hands went still. "I'm not sure why people call me all that," she admitted, dropping the cigarette to the table. "'Cept lesbian, I guess."

Her gaze turned hard. "You out to your folks?"

I nod.

"Figured. You seem a bit too bull-headed not to be." Her hands tensed, nails digging into the table. "I… I wish I could be like that. Not out, I—I am that, but… assured it wouldn't go wrong."

"It's not like I wasn't scared," I said, quietly.

"You still did it," she said, firmly. "I didn't. My mom and dad found some shit of mine when they were cleaning or something. You know, magazines and photos and… stuff."

She took in a deep breath. "They sent me to some church halfway across the province, somewhere no owe would know me. It was… it was bullshit, really. Telling me that my 'lustful wanderings' happened just because I wore pants and didn't cook and a whole bunch of other crap like that."

Her hands curled into fists. "Course, if that didn't work the nuns or psychopaths or whatever the fuck those idiots were could use some other crap. Like fucking cattle prods, or iron bands, or if none of those worked, they'd grab one of the priests or deacons and just… leave you alone with him."

"That's horrible," I said, knowing it wasn't anywhere near enough.

I still agree with that. Later, Clara told me more about her time at the church, gave me more detail into what happened to her and others she knew. I wouldn't wish any of it on the devil himself.

Clara chuckled, laugh jagged like broken glass. "Goes to show how much of an idiot they were, doesn't it? Wasting their time on me, all so I can turn around and start dating a piece of tail like you. Like spitting in their faces every day."

Slowly, I reached out and grabbed her hand. Her skin was rough, calloused, but still warm.

 _Don't freak out, you're only holding hands with a girl._

 _In public._

I swallowed, throat dry, before I spoke.

"I don't know if I could be here if I went through what you did," I admitted. "I knew my family wouldn't be entirely _happy_ with me, but I never thought… I never even considered that they might do anything like that to me."

I met her eyes, noticing for the first time their colour. A dark, deep green that seemed infinite in depth.

Clara coughed, yanking her hand away from mine. "That's because you're a bit stupid. Family doesn't… they don't act right, when it comes to us. They do horrible shit, and then try to say they're just _helping_ you. That we should be _thankful._ "

"Not always."

"But a lot," Clara said. "It's normal."

My stomach turned, but I forced on a smile. "Good thing we're not normal then, right?"

"I guess," Clara said, but she didn't seem to realise she'd even spoke. Her eyes drifted to the abandoned cigarette on the table, and, I suspected, farther.

I didn't have much to say either. I was too busy with the deep chill threading its way through my body.

I knew, roughly, of the camps. Heard distant tales of torture and mutilation, of "pray the gay away" and "aversion therapy," but somehow I had never applied that to myself. I remained too focused on the reaction of my family, too worried about their disapproval to even think of what could come after.

But who could blame me? This was over twenty years after Trudeau decriminalised us. We had marches in cities, reporters talking about us without calling us perverts or sinners.

I thought I wasn't supposed to be afraid anymore.

"Fucking hell," Clara said at last, bringing the energy of the bar back into focus. "You sure know how to bring down the mood, you know that?"

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Whatever. I'm getting a drink. You want one?"

"No, no, I'm… I'm fine," I said. I already had to worry about the smell of booze on my clothes, I'd really rather not have to deal with actual drunkenness.

She shrugged. "Suit yourself."

It only took her a few seconds to scoot out from behind the table, and meld into the crowded floor. I stared after her for as long as I could, until I was seeing her hair in anyone that passed by.

I'd been able to ignore it when Clara was there, but it was painfully clear just how much younger I was than anyone else in here. I shrunk into the linoleum seat, eyes darting from corner to corner. As long as I kept quiet and small, I thought, no one would notice me.

A hot, wet breath ghosted across my neck, carrying with it the thick scent of beer and a _painful_ amount of schadenfreude. "Aren't you a pretty little thing?"

I jumped, twisting in my seat. A girl—a woman, really—towered behind me, drinking me in with dark chocolate eyes. One hand carried an empty bottle, the other rested against the back of the booth.

Her lips curled upwards. "Oh, don't panic sweet. I was simply… complimenting your style. It's rare we see someone dressed quite as exquisitely as you."

"I'm fourteen," I blurted. "And here with someone else."

She laughed, a little unsteadily. "Oh, of course you are. All the pretty girls are taken."

Her head leaned in, until she was damn near touching my lips. "But that doesn't mean we can't have some fun, can we?"

Dark and chocolatey as her eyes were, I could see the unfocused element of her pupils, recognising it from the rare times my father opened the liquor cabinet. I'd had enough.

I stood up, backing away from the girl as fast as I could. However, I had forgotten my legs were still under the table. Thankfully, whatever kept the table attached to the floor was nowhere near as strong as my panic filled movements, so I managed to rip the table off as I stumbled backwards, tripping over it and landing on the divider between the booths.

The table, fueled by an errant kick, spun off, landing in front of a young couple who were, of course, carrying drinks.

I wound up wet. Very, very wet.

The woman, whoever she was, disappeared into the crowd as quickly as she had arrived.

I had attracted more than a few eyes during my little stunt, although the vast majority of the patrons here chose to ignore the young girl destroying property and making herself look like a fool, which honestly improved my overall opinion of the place.

This was when Clara returned from buying drinks. Of the two she carried, one was already empty.

I pushed myself off the divider and to the floor, standing and straightening myself out as much as I could. The dress wasn't soaked all the way through, thankfully, but the front half of the top and skirt had dark circles that clung to my skin, and smelt.

I glared at Clara, who only just met my eyes.

"We're leaving."

* * *

I called Klein from the front desk of the bar, after I managed to convince the owners that, no, I didn't break anything, the table broke itself, you don't need to pursue legal action and, what, I look like a kid? That's patently untrue. How would I even know about this place if I was a kid?

Look, I wanted to get home, not get everyone there arrested.

Clara didn't say a word, preferring to stare morosely at anything within five feet, while slowly emptying her remaining cup.

That said, when I got off the phone and left the bar, she followed me a half-second behind, the door gently swinging shut as we entered the frigid night air.

It likely wasn't any colder than it had been when we entered, but the liquid on my dress attracted the cold. A shiver passed through my spin, skin breaking into goosebumps.

Thankfully, I was angry enough to ignore it.

I walked to the mouth of the alley. The wind was heavier there, and I found myself getting even colder—but I could keep an eye out for Klein.

Yes, I know. I spent entirely too much of that day waiting.

"I can't believe this," I muttered, glaring downwards. "This is a new dress." I looked to Clara, who had followed me and now leaned against the brick wall. "Did you know that? This is— _was_ a brand new dress. Wore it _once_ before today, now I'll be lucky if I can use it as a towel rag."

"Well, I'm sorry princess," Clara slurred. "Didn't realise your dress mattered more than your date."

I glared at her. "I _apologise_ if having my property ruined cast something of a pall over the evening."

"It's just a dress," she muttered.

"It's not just about the _dress,"_ I said, a bit louder than I intended.

I leaned closer. "You brought me to a _bar,"_ I hissed. "A dingy bar in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of people I never met. What part of any of that sounded like a good idea for a first date?"

"The part where we didn't get thrown out by some idiot manager," Clara snarled, pushing off the wall and stomping towards me. She only stumbled a little. "We don't get to go to fancy restaurants or movies or whatever the fuck you think dating is. We get shit."

"Then why are you still doing it?" I asked, crossing my arms. "Why are we here if dating a girl is so much trouble?"

She went silent, looking away and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"You're pretty," she admitted, softly. "I know you're here just to piss your dad off or whatever, but… I don't really get a lot of pretty girls asking me out. Figured it was a worth a shot."

She shrugged. "I'm not going to beg you to stay. I get it. Even if you are into girls, I… I'm not a great catch. I fuck shit up, get smashed and fuck more shit up, can't get a passing grade to save my life… and that's just me. That's not dealing with the rest of the crap you'd have to go through."

"Do you want me to stay?" I asked.

She laughed humorlessly. "Of course I do. It'd be a long walk home, if you didn't give me a ride, and, I mean, seriously, when on earth am I ever going to meet someone like you again?"

She paused. "But you probably shouldn't."

The night went still. The noise of the bar, of the city around us, seemed to vanish.

The smart choice would have been to say goodbye. I wasn't naïve, not even then. I realised this could be nothing but an elaborate guilt trip, a way for her to make we stay with her and make me think it was my choice.

It was also possible for it to be legitimate. That the pain dripping off her every word was real, that the person in front of me was just as broken as they claimed.

I would love to say it was the second one that convinced me. That I made my next choice out of nothing but the enormity of emotion I felt for that girl.

But in truth, my mind leapt to home, me explaining my dress to my father. Having to tell him what happened to the girl I was with. The girl I tried and failed to date.

Regardless of my reason, I closed the gap between us, grabbed her chin in my hand, closed my eyes, and kissed her.

She tasted strongly of ash and whatever foul concoction she drank within the bar. Her lips felt rough, and it was quite clear she hadn't approached a toothbrush in a worrying length of time.

Despite all that, she still felt… soft. Distinctly feminine in a way that could not be destroyed. She gave a light gasp, lighting a spark in my heart as she pressed her chest against me.

I'll never forget anything from that moment, even if I want to. Not the way it felt, not the taste, not the sudden flare of heat, rushing through my skin before settling below my stomach.

I pulled away first, licking my lips and looking anywhere but her. "I, um, I hope that made my intentions clear?"

Clara nodded, eyes blown wide and breath raggedly shallow.

A car pulled up on the road beside us. I looked over just as the windows rolled down, and saw Klein's face illuminated by the glow of the dashboard.

I turned back to Clara. "I have to go," I said, grabbing her hands. They felt warmer than I expected. "Maybe tomorrow we could… plan something a bit better?"

"I, uh, yeah, okay," Clara said, nodding rapidly. "Sure. Tomorrow. At school?"

"Right." I stepped away, letting go of her hands. She looked notably dejected at that.

I walked to the car and opened the back door, about to step in when Clara spoke up again.

"Um, Weiss?"

I turned.

"T-thank you, for the… the thing," she said, blushing madly.

"O-of course," I replied, also blushing madly. "Isn't that the traditional end to a date?"

She laughed, on hand disappearing behind her head. "I—I guess so."

I smiled. "Goodnight, Clara."

"Goodnight, Weiss."

I climbed in the car and shut the side door, watching through the window until Klein drove off.

I shut my eyes and leaned against the seat, a wave of exhaustion settling over my limbs. It felt like I had ran a marathon.

"An enjoyable evening, I take it?" Klein asked.

"Mmmm," I groaned. "Not entirely."

"Oh? Then what kind of evening was it, to end in a kiss?"

"You saw that?" I asked, opening my eyes.

Klein's eyes danced with merriment in the rear-view mirror. "Don't dodge the question, Miss Schnee."

I huffed, a slight smile spreading across my face.

"A not wholly wasted evening."


	35. Weiss's flashback (Part 2 of 3)

At first, I thought things went fairly well.

We went on more dates, better dates than the bar. Lakes at sunset, diners, forest hikes—things young teenagers without much disposable income ( _At hand._ How much do you really think my parents would give me?) could afford. None turned out quite as… exciting as the first night, but they were never _boring._

That, I can credit to Clara. Dating her was always complicated and difficult, largely because she was a complicated and difficult person. I dated her for months, and at the end of it, I still barely knew more than her name.

We weren't like Yang and Blake. In one key aspect we _were_ much the same, but several elements of our relationship were very, very different.

We were never closeted, for one.

I came out to my classmates the day after we started dating when, after I arranged a second date with her on the doorsteps to the school, I kissed her.

Not my brightest moment, I know, but I was fourteen. I hadn't quite grown out of stupidity.

Knowledge of my queerness spread quickly, stripping me of my few casual acquaintances I had gathered in my eight years of schooling. It wasn't as dramatic as I imagine you're thinking of—I mainly lost lab partners and easy cafeteria seating—but it was… noticeable.

My father wasn't happy with anything of this, of course, but I knew that going in, and quite frankly didn't consider it a negative.

That's something I should point out. I knew I was sacrificing a great deal by doing this. Unfamiliar as I was to the world of gay, I knew how _my_ world would react to its intrusion. None of this, from the loss of acquaintances to my father's displeasure or even Clara's smoky breath whenever we kissed was unexpected. I knew this going in and was _ready_ for it.

That doesn't mean it was always easy.

* * *

Three months after I started dating Clara, I walked through the schools halls, intent on grabbing my supplies from my locker and leaving for class before I was late, again.

I kept my head down as I walked, stepping around small clusters of people. A few, or most, stopped to stare as I passed by. Even more shared whispers in my wake, like spectators at a circus.

I could've confronted them. Had a few times, when each hushed word stung me like barbs, when each stare felt like boulders attached to my neck. But those feelings faded, and so did the desire, especially when my early efforts resulted only in detention.

Still, it meant I had to endure the long, pointed looks until I reached my locker. This was the only time I regretted my choice in location, a quieter corner near the library and an exit. It had its benefits, of course. The exit led directly to one of the more beautiful parts of the school grounds, a lightly shaded area that rarely became too hot. It was an excellent place to study when I wanted air that didn't smell of teenager.

The quiet part didn't apply that day. When I got to my hallway, I found a solid throng of people, classmates and otherwise. It wasn't as packed as you're imagining—it wasn't that large of a school—but still rather dense.

A steady murmur rose from the crowd, unintelligible except for sharp bursts of laughter.

A cold stone dropped into my stomach, but I payed it no heed.

"Excuse me?" I said, pushing through. "Excuse me, please, my locker's this way. Would you move, kindly?"

Said stone grew colder when the crowd parted to those last words. My fears were confirmed a second later when I laid eyes on my locker.

 _DYKE_

 _FAGGOT_

 _BEEBO FUCKER_

Similar sayings covered the rest of the locker. Some simple insults, others more graphically detailed, written in shrinking font as the writer ran out of room. A few were offerings from several boys, who presumably saw the word "lesbian" and promptly forgot what it actually meant.

"Again?" I muttered, shaking my head. "Again?"

I unlocked and opened the locker, pulling the spray bottle and rag off the top shelf. With those in hand, I started cleaning the graffiti off.

The crowd thinned, but by and large lingered as I scrubbed. You'd imagine a fourteen-year-old cleaning would be about as entertaining as an empty glass, but apparently that's not quite true.

No one harassed me, at least, which was more than I could always rely on. A few of the older grades—men, mostly, although some women, enough I couldn't claim it was purely a gender thing—took it upon themselves to "convince" me of my "sinful" ways.

When the boys weren't catcalling me, at least.

Was it annoying? Yes. Very much so. But, and I don't mean to sound insensitive or blasé about it, they were just…words. Words from other people, words they used to label themselves apart from me.

All it achieved was to make me mad. Mad at them, mad at the school for letting this happen, mad at Clara for making the rumours so much worse, so much harder to deal with.

Mad at myself for being unable to stop them.

...

Fine. Maybe it did affect me, but the point is I could handle it. It required a slight... _adjustment,_ but I could and did make that adjustment.

Part of that meant keeping cleaning solution in my locker, to handle whatever crap people drew on school property, so the school wouldn't blame me for "vandalism."

Thankfully, the ink came off fairly quickly. Soon, the only evidence left was a thin layer of black, and that would fade once it was washed properly.

I set the spray bottle and rag back into my locker and grabbed a change of clothes. I had gym first period, and _no one_ wanted to be late.

This was the crowds cue to finally leave, allowing me free passage through the schools halls. I'm sure a few had something to say about me. I'm sure a few said those things to their friends, but that's not important.

It's not. Even if I paid attention or remembered, you wouldn't... you wouldn't want to hear them.

The only thing said that morning that mattered happened a few minutes later, when I finally arrived to a startlingly empty gym. I heard voices coming from the change rooms.

Mentally, I kicked myself. I might not have been late _yet,_ but I would be by the time I actually got changed.

If I ever found the idiots who kept writing on my locker, I was going to kill them.

I never got a chance to continue my homicidal musings, or even get across the gym before someone called my name. "Weiss? Can you come here for a minute?"

I turned, and caught sight of Ironwood, leaning against his office door.

Ironwood served as both our gym teacher and the principle. If you ever meet him, you'd understand why in a second. He had to duck his head under all but the tallest of doorways, and had to turn sideways for some narrower ones.

Beyond that, I barely knew him. I was never the type of student that had to go to the office, nor did I tend to stand out in gym class.

(Oh, I was—and am—athletic enough. As fit as your sister, at least. I… suppose I'm not as _strong_ as she is, but that's simply genetics. Or something)

I mostly knew him from how he acted with other students. Fair, firm, and quite stringent with the rules. He hated it when someone tried to word-lawyer their way out of a punishment, and if you _ever_ back talked him…

It was nerve-racking, being called when I knew I was late. Like I saw a train speeding towards me, and knew I had to walk toward it.

"Good morning," I said as I drew close, swallowing to fix a suddenly dry throat. "I—I know I'm late, and I apologise. Someone drew some nasty things on my locker, and I didn't want to leave them on so I—"

He cut me off. "It's fine, Weiss. I…I'm aware of the situation. Believe me, I'm taking every step I can to stop it."

He looked at the change room door, just as a gaggle of laughing boys poured out.

"I'm afraid that's not what I need to speak with you about," he said, stepping back and opening his office door. "In here, please?"

I did as he asked.

There wasn't much in his gym office. He did most of his paperwork up at the main office, I believed. Still, he had a desk built into the wall, as well as a cheap office chair and several foldout chairs. A few pictures were stapled onto the wall, most of him and a significantly younger girl with orange hair.

"Everyone! Twenty laps then grab a ball and do some free-throws!" Ironwood called, before stepping in and shutting the door.

He sighed, bringing a gloved hand to his face and rubbing. He didn't exactly young beforehand, but the gesture seemed to age him forty years.

"Take a seat, please," he said, dropping his hand. He crossed the room as I set up a folding chair, sitting in it with my hands laid in my lap.

Ironwood leaned against his desk, crossing his arms and facing me. The cuff of his shirt showed a sliver of pure white where the glove on his hand stopped.

"Weiss," he began. "I… I hope you know the school, and I, will always support your right to receive the same education as anyone else, regardless of any of your… personal activities."

I blinked. "Of course I know that. Why wouldn't I?"

He sighed again, his eyes slipping down.

"There's been some complaints from the other girls in this class," he explained, looking up as he finished. "Regarding your… behaviour in the change room."

It took me a moment to figure out where he was going with this—but only a moment. I suppose you could call it paranoia, but I thought of it as more of a well-tuned instrument.

"I see," was all I said.

"I'm not saying I believe them, necessarily," Ironwood said. "But I'm sure you're aware of a school policy. If complaints have been made—"

"They have to be addressed," I finished.

"Exactly."

I shifted in my seat, the cold plastic now hot. "So how are you addressing it?"

He looked away, briefly. "Depends on you. You can wait until everyone's done and then go in, or take the extra room in back. Your choice."

Except it wasn't, really. None of this had been since I walked in here.

"I'll take the back room."

* * *

I found myself later that evening discussing my ban from the girls change room with Clara. She came over just after school, before either of my parents came home (thankfully), and took up residence on my bed. I stayed at my desk chair, fiddling with the fan I set to blow out the window.

It was an unusually warm day for fall.

"It's ridiculous," I said to her, glaring at the setting sun. It hurt, a bit, but I relished in the pain, glad to set my frustration against something, anything. "Absolutely absurd. The very thought is—"

"Don't stress about it," Clara said, cutting me off. Her words slurred slightly as she talked around the lit cigarette in her mouth. "I mean, I got kicked out three days into Grade 7."

I snorted. "I didn't actually stare at them. Or grope them, or make thousands of innuendos each time I opened my mouth. Besides," I muttered, looking down as my face burned. "They're far more distracting _during_ gym class than before it."

Clara snorted, cigarette tumbling out of her lips as they mutated into true laughs. She caught it before it lit my bed on fire, but not before it left a ring of black.

I winced, but refrained from saying anything. Besides, I'd always wanted a dog. I guess having a Dalmatian coloured blanket was somewhat similar.

Clara took a long drag from her cigarette, eyes narrowing in thought.

"You know what you should have done?" Clara said. "You should have kicked Ironwood in the balls."

"What?"

"You heard me." She sat up, flicking ashes into a cup on the floor. Even after all this time, it was hard to read the expression on her face. "Kick him right in the baby maker. He's the one who banned you, isn't he?"

"The other students did," I corrected. "They're the ones making up stories. All he did was—"

"Kick you out."

"No!" I paused. "Technically, yes, but—"

"But nothing. He did it." She leaned down, grounding the rest of her cigarette into the cup to smother it. "Think about it, what were those girls going to do if he refused? Give you dirty looks?"

 _They already do,_ I thought, but refused to voice. A familiar spark had took root in my chest, and I loathed the thought of allowing her any victory.

"He didn't have a choice," I insisted, meeting her eyes with a steady look.

Clara didn't back down. "Course he does. He's the principle, Weiss. Even if the other teachers raised a stink, so what? He makes the rules. Literally."

"But what if he was wrong?" I asked.

Clara snorted.

I pressed on. "What if I _was_ secretly watching all my classmates get changed, or touching them or whatever else they said. He'd be putting them in danger just because he _thinks_ I wouldn't do it."

Clara rolled her eyes.

"I'm serious!"

"No you're not," Clara said. "Not even a little. If anyone else was saying this bullshit, you'd get in their case about that's just an argument to justify discrimination, compare it to assuming a black dude's going to steal something, yadda yadda—"

"I get the point," I grumbled, looking away from her and glaring at the carpet. Unrelated, of course. It was a dirty carpet. Quite filthy, really, and it was all her fault. Her and those damn cigarettes.

She smirked, before standing and walking over and past me, settling her head on my shoulder. Her hands wrapped around my torso, but below my actual, well, chest.

"You, babe, are pissed," she whispered into my ear, hot breath drifting across my skin. It would have been quite sensual if she didn't smell of a day old campfire. "And since the people you're _actually_ pissed at aren't here, you're pissed at me. Am I on the right track?"

I jerked away as much as I could. "Not even close. And don't call me 'babe'."

She laughed, pulling away before leaning against my desk with a smug grin.

I crossed my arms. "You're intolerable."

"And you're an ass," Clara said. "With a nice ass, true, but still. An ass."

I opened my mouth to retort, (although with what I can't say, and I doubt I could've even then) but never got a chance as my bedroom door opened.

Father stepped in, lips curled into a harsh frown. "There had better be a damn good explanation for the news I received from the school today, young lady, or I'll—"

Finally, he noticed someone else in the room, turning to her in a tightly controlled motion. "Clara."

The girl in question raised an arm in a lazy wave. "Sup pops?"

Oh dear lord.

Father took a breath, glaring at her before moving his gaze to me. "Weiss? A word? In private?"

"O-of course." I turned to Clara. "Would you mind if—"

"Course," she said, pulling a carton from her pocket. "I'll wait here. Go have a talk."

I frowned. "That's not exactly what I meant."

"It's fine," Father said, letting out a heavy breath. "In the living room, Weiss. Now."

He gave another look to Clara, eyes diamond hard, before he turned and left. I could hear every step he took.

* * *

My father wasn't shouting or pacing when I arrived in the living room. He's far too controlled for such a damaging display of anger. But the grip on the sofa's armrest, his thousand yard stare into the wall, both laser-focused, were just as clear an indicator.

Thankfully, I didn't have to sit close to him. The living room, like every other communal room in the house, was designed for business as well as family, and so had plenty of seating options. It also meant it felt like an IKEA showcase, with the same effect on your willingness to touch any of the pristine furniture, less you leave a single thumbprint behind.

No one did much living in here.

I took a plush armchair, pointed away from and a metre and a half away from the couch my father was on.

He didn't move as I sat. "I got a call from the school today. Discussing your… suspension, from the locker room."

I swallowed. I had hoped he wouldn't find out for at least a few days, but I should have known how scant the chances were.

He shook his head minutely, before dropping it and sighing. "This is the third time this week Ironwood's called. Last time it was about your locker. The time before last was a fight."

"It wasn't a fight," I muttered. "Just an aggressive disagreement."

"You almost got _suspended,_ Weiss," Father said, finally looking at me.

"Almost. So I didn't. Because I hadn't done anything worth suspending me over." I crossed my arms. "Besides, it's calmed down since then."

"It has," he admitted. "But there's much you're not aware of. I've heard your name in rumors my colleagues are sharing, rumors regarding your… patronage to a certain dingy, dirty, most likely _illegal_ bar."

Damn. I should have known that would bite me again. I'd left a memorable scene in that bar, and I could only guess at how wildly exaggerated it had become in the three month period.

"We went once," I insisted, quietly. "And I'm never going back."

"You may not. But your precious Clara?" He sneered. "Why, she's a regular. Underage, of course, but why should that stop her from getting so drunk she can't walk? Or even stay conscious? Paid for on your dime, of course. Even if you're unaware of that."

I shot forward. "She's not a thief!"

"But she is an addict," Father stated, like he was speaking to an overactive child. "Her teachers tell me of empty bottles left in her wake. Our liquor cabinet empties whenever she comes over, and she absolutely _reeks_ of drink."

He raised a brow. "Surely you're aware of the last, if nothing else."

I crossed my arms and looked away, ignoring how my skin burned at the insinuation. "It's a quirk," I insisted. "Besides, you'd find something to complain about with any girl I brought home."

"That's… likely right," he admitted, sighing. "And you're unquestionably right to think so. But this isn't just about that, and you know it."

He shuffled forward. "Think about the long-term, Weiss. This girl is toxic to your reputation, and by association my reputation _._ That hurts the business, when my customers hear about it. _Your_ business, someday."

I shrugged. "So? I'm not dating Clara for them; I'm certainly not going to stop for their sake."

"Then for whose sake are you dating her for?" He asked. "Not for your own, certainly."

I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean?"

He laughed, darkly, quietly and without real humor. "Don't pretend to be a fool, and don't act like I'm one either. Call me a cold-hearted old man, but I know what love is, Weiss. And I don't see it between you and Clara. Affection? Yes. Lust? At times, but love? The kind of love that allows two lovers to survive and thrive in the face of the trails awaiting you? No. No, you don't have that. You never have."

I didn't believe him. Not then. But why would I? I was fourteen, assured my knowledge of the world was inherently superior to that of a grouchy old man.

Still, my conviction felt unsteady, like with each step I took the ground beneath my feet turned to dust.

"You're wrong," I growled.

"Hmm."

His jacket dinged sharply. He reached in and pulled out a pager, screen glowing bright green.

"Another big client," he mumbled, before suddenly standing. "I have to go, Weiss. This conversation isn't over."

"That's not up to you."

"It is today."

He walked past me, reaching and climbing the stairs at the end of the hallway connecting the living room to the rest of the house.

I didn't relax until I heard his study door slam shut.

I flopped against the couch, arms spreading over the cushions as my shoulders sagged. My eyes drifted shut, even as I scolded myself for messing with my sleep schedule. It wasn't a fight I could win. That little spat was the final straw, if said straw was made of lead and could be used as a replacement for the Calgary tower.

I almost did, in fact, drift off before a sharp voice rousted me.

"That guy is an absolute dumbass."

My eyes shot open as Clara walked in, thumbs jammed in her pockets. She stared down the hall my father went down.

"Clara, I—You shouldn't have heard—"

She shrugged. "It's fine, babe. Only heard the last bits anyways."

"So only the worst part."

"I guess, but like I said, he's a dumbass. Doesn't matter." She eyed me. "Does it?"

"Of course not," I said, standing and walking to her. "If you weren't, um, listening, then…?"

She smirked. "Figured I'd overstayed my welcome, so I decided to hit the road."

"I… suppose that's fair," I admitted, before tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "It was nice to see you."

She made a face, fast enough I thought it to be a trick of the eye before smiling. "Hope so."

She leaned forward. "Kiss for the road, babe?"

I huffed. "So long as you agree to stop calling me that."

"No promises," she said, which I knew was as good as I was ever going to get.

I leaned in, pecking her on the lips. With her mouth closed, I couldn't taste near as much of the tobacco or whatever drink she had earlier, but I still got a whiff of it.

My mind drifted to what my father said, which isn't something you want to happen when you're kissing anyone, but was especially painful then.

I pulled away quickly, (clearly quicker than Clara expected, as I caught her stumbling) and gave her a shaky smile. "I'll pick you up tomorrow for school, like normal?"

She nodded. "Sure. Looking forward to it.

We stood there for a moment, silent, before Clara turned and left. I didn't need to go with her, she knew the layout of my house by now, and so I didn't.

My thoughts had dragged me too deep.

I… I couldn't fully deny what my father had said. Clara was a far kinder girl than people gave her credit for, but she was also undeniably difficult. Rough-edged at best, a knife-wielding cactus at worst.

Yet if that was the issue I struggle with, if the only problem with Clara was the chance of pain and annoyance due to her personality, then I would be fine with that.

 _"For whose sake are you dating her for?"_

For my sake. I knew that. I believed that, even if my father didn't. But I was having a great deal of trouble identifying that sake.

I've told you a great deal about her, haven't I? Think, what exactly did we have in common?

I had a prickly side, just as she did, but mine was thorns jutting out from my skin, and hers was her body, shaped into shattered glass. One moment where your luck fails you, where you fail the see the tiny shards or move your hand just the tiniest bit too fast, and you draw blood.

She was loud where I was quiet. Unruly when I was meek. Aggressive when I wanted nothing more than to go unnoticed, and even if I didn't fully understand it, broken in ways I could not comprehend.

Did we share anything, save our love for the rounder things in life? Was there anything to draw us together, rather than push us apart?

In that living room on that day, I could not name a single thing.

But it didn't matter, did it. I told myself that, even as I denied why. I kept saying she was my girlfriend. That I cared about her, wanted to date her—and yet, even in my head I danced around the term.

I knew the truth. Staying with Clara had nothing to do with her. I wanted to prove father wrong. I wanted to show him we could stay together, that we weren't doomed to failure because of who and what we were.

Or maybe that was a lie.

Maybe I was just scared.

* * *

Klein never liked driving me to Clara's house. He never said so directly, of course, but I'd known him for most of my life. I knew how to read the creases of his eyes, the set of his shoulders, the glances he shot me every time we stopped.

I couldn't blame him for that. Clara lived in part of the original city, built back Hudson's Bay Company founded it. Their house dated to about the same time, having been passed down through the family ever since. I'd never been inside—Clara never asked—but I'd seen it. It stretched across enough land to be comfortably labelled an estate, and even with classically small windows, there was enough glass stuck in the walls to make a football stadium sized fish bowl.

It was impossible to ignore it, even standing at the far end of the ridiculously long driveway. Looking away, plugging your ears—nothing could erase the _awareness_ of the four-story tall house standing before you.

But then, it wasn't just a house. It was a home. Clara's family's home. Generations of people had lived here. And died.

This was the kind of place where the past and the future have a habit of catching up to you.

I didn't really know that then. I just thought it was a weird old place that made me feel awkward.

Nor did it matter then. Klein drove me without a moment's hesitation, and we arrived at seven thirty—long before the start of school, but late enough I thought (hoped) Clara would be awake.

My expectations were satisfied on that account, at least, as we rolled up to the front gate.

She sat at the front gate, back pressing into it in such a way that made it obvious it was the only thing holding her up. Her clothes, I noted, were the same as yesterdays, if grungier, and when I stepped out of the car and she looked up, lips splitting into a wide, if slow grin, my suspicions were confirmed with a sniff.

"Weissy!" Clara exclaimed, raising her arms like a toddler demanding a hug. "Weissaroonie. Babe, baby, princess, icey... You came!"

I kneeled down, wondering why exactly I wore a skirt instead of pants. "Of course I did," I said, grabbing a beer can off the ground.

Cheap beer too, as if the universe had to throw me one final indignity.

"How many of these did you have?" I asked. Around her I could see at least five, along with a few other bottles that may or may not have once housed drink. It was possible some of these weren't connected to her, after all. We were right next to a road.

"I dunno," Clara muttered, head rolling to the side. "A lot? Probably. More than like, two."

"More than two."

"Mmmm…" Her eyes floated away. I somehow doubt it was intentional. "Yep."

"Right." I stood, looking at the estate. "Did your parents kick you out again?"

"They're dummies."

I sighed. "That would be a yes."

Clara giggled, which was a bad warning sign. Clara didn't start giggling until she had almost poisoned herself. It would take her most of the day to sober up enough to walk, let alone go to school.

I couldn't just leave her out here, either. Sure, a vindictive part of me considered it just punishment for getting as drunk as a Scot in a drinking contest, but it wasn't summer anymore. With her state of inebriation and her complete lack of anything but a far too tight t-shirt, (Don't give me that look) leaving her out would be tantamount to killing her.

I… I didn't want that, obviously.

I grabbed Clara's hand and pulled her to her feet. She leaned against me, hard, and since she had twenty pounds on me that meant I nearly fell over. Only weeks of practise saved me, and dear god it's depressing to say I had practise at hauling a drunk women around.

"I'm going to be late," I muttered as I pulled her towards the car. Clara didn't hear, or least gave no indication she did. "Again. For the twentieth time this year—this _semester._ I'm only four months in."

"You'll be fine," Clara said, each word plodding like an elephant in a minefield. "Who'd punish Miss. Wonderful?"

Klein had stepped out of the car and opened the back door for me. I shot him a grateful look as I loaded Clara into the backseat. Laying down, of course. I knew getting her to sit up would be a fool's errand.

Klein had also put garbage bags on the seat and floor, in case Clara didn't react well when the car moved. It had happened a few times, and it was far cheaper to simply leave a box of garbage bags in the trunk than to pay someone to clean the interior every time we did this.

Garbage bags. In a car more expensive than a college education.

"I take it we're not going straight to school?" Klein said, watching as I brushed a hair out of Clara's eye. Her forehead was sweatier than gym socks, but also worryingly cold.

Damn. How long had she been out here?

I shook my head. "We'd be thrown straight out if we went now," I said, backing out of the car and shutting the door.

I looked over my shoulder at the estate. "And I somehow doubt she'll be allowed in there until night. If that."

"I see."

"Father's not home, is he?"

"Not until late tonight, no."

I looked back at him, then down to Clara, whom I wasn't quite sure was still conscious.

"We'll take her home, I guess. Get her to a bed, let her sleep this off." I sighed. "I mean, what's another tardy for the permanent record?"

"Nothing worth the suffering of another," Klein admitted. He looked at the back seat. "Although forgive me if the thought crosses my mind."

"Be a bit hypocritical if I did," I muttered.

Klein gave me a small smile, before climbing into the driver's seat and igniting the engine. With the back full, I took the passenger seat.

Clara stirred as the car started moving, groaning when a ray of light crossed her face. She tried to push herself up, which she did mostly succeed at, but I couldn't say she sat up because she wound up leaning against the door instead.

"If the madam begins to feel sick, kindly lay back down," Klein said as we rounded the corner. "These seats are rather nasty to clean."

"Shut up Jeeves," Clara grumbled, before letting out another sickly moan.

"Good to see you're still conscious," I said, looking at her over my shoulder. In the plush interior of the car, her raggedness became even more apparent. Clumps of dirt and grass stuck to her clothes and skin, and her eyes, visible only through thin slits, were as red as Rudolph's nose.

"Course I am, babe" Clara said, attempting to rub her eyes with her arm and instead tapping her nose. "How could I… could I sleep when I've got such a pretty looking girl looking at me, ice babe?"

…Okay, this was a bit much, even for her.

I turned and held up a hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Clara's squint turned to a glare. "…Are you shitting me?"

"No."

"I'm tipsy, not concussed," she said, or at least attempted to, as "concussed," came out like Daffy Duck had said it.

"Just answer the question!"

Clara shook her head, which caused her hair to fall in front of her eyes. "Like, five? Ish."

It was two.

"You can't even see straight," I said, dropping my hand. "Jesus."

"Language," Klein chided.

"Fine, maybe I'm a little drunk," Clara admitted. ("A little?" Klein muttered, low enough only I could hear him) "But _you_ gotta stop it with that look on your face."

"What look?"

"That look!" Clara pointed at my face, which, thank you Clara, I didn't know where the face was. "That… judgy thing you're doing with your lips, and eyes, and eyebrows, and—yeah!" She jabbed her finger forward. "That one! The one you're doing right now!"

I turned around, crossing my arms as I stared out the window. I recognised some of the buildings, and up ahead I saw the hill leading towards my house.

A sigh escaped my throat. "I just… can't understand how you can do this to yourself, day after day."

"Not my fault," Clara slurred, falling to the seat as we rounded a corner. "Only way I can get the fuck out of my head…"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

I didn't get an answer. At first, I thought Clara had fallen asleep, or had sobered up enough to realise she didn't _want_ to answer.

Then, I heard retching.

* * *

At the end of it all, I was an hour-and-a-half late getting to school. My teachers were understandably annoyed, but no one raised any kind of official punishment, not even a detention. I suppose Ironwood must have thought I was held up by something related to my locker, or a mugging, or Emma Frost, or literally anything other than what it actually was.

At any rate, the day was mostly normal, up until I returned to my locker at the end of the day. I had gym last period—playing lacrosse, believe it or not—and thanks to Ironwood's new rules it took me a few minutes longer to get into and out of class, so the hallways were mostly clear, save a few stragglers and the janitors, already working to scrub the halls of dirt.

What that meant, however, was a convenient lack of suspects when I arrived at my locker, and found it once again covered in graffiti.

I stared at it for a moment, gym strip hanging loose in one hand while the other curled into a fist.

"Does no one have anything better to do than this?" I asked.

I shook my head and marched across the hall, throwing my locker open and grabbing the spray bottle and rag.

When I shut the locker and went to clean it, however, the text caught my eye.

 _CANT WAIT TO SEE YOU ROT IN HELL, YOU DYKE BASTARD._

 _GONNA MAKE YOU BLEED. SHOW YOU HOW A REAL MAN FUCKS_

 _GONNA MAKE YOU OURS, BITCH_

Nothing else was written on the locker.

The spray bottle shook in my hands as I stepped away, a cold feeling spreading through my stomach. I was suddenly hyper aware of just how _empty_ the surrounding halls were,

It was bravado. It had to be. There was no way anyone who wanted to do… _that_ to me would be stupid enough to give me evidence. It was probably a bunch of boys egging each other on, until they managed to convince themselves this was somehow a good idea.

I swallowed, raised my arm, and sprayed the locker.

I started scrubbing after a few squirts, but the ink didn't even smear. It didn't matter how much force I used or solution I sprayed, the words remained on the metal, mocking me with each sweep of my arms.

"Having trouble?" someone, a girl, said.

I jumped. Not out of fear, mind you, but simply… reasonable caution.

I turned. The girl was one of the school's lacrosse players, as well as one of my classmates. She had several inches on me, because of course she did, as well as considerably darker skin. It contrasted nicely with her lime hair, although I mean nicely in terms of colour composition, not _attractiveness_ or anything ridiculous like that. Even if I was, the sports jersey thing she wore ruined it, sweaty and decidedly unflattering as it was.

"I'm fine," I growled, turning back to the locker. Whatever the hell those idiots wrote with wasn't coming out, so I threw in the towel by opening the locker and shoving my cleaning supplies in.

She put one hand on her hip, the other used to lean against the wall. At the sight of the rag in my hand, she gave an extremely punchable smirk. "You know, I heard baking soda's real good at getting out stains."

"What do you want?" I half-growled.

"Oh, nothing," the girl said, checking her nails on her free hand. "Just thought I'd stop by, see how you're doing with… well, you know."

"The death threats?" I muttered, too low for her to hear.

"Oh, you haven't, have you?" she said.

I sighed. "No, obviously, I haven't." I looked at her. "What is it this time?"

Her smirk widened, even as her voice gained a layer of false sympathy. "Oh, well, if you haven't heard already then maybe I shouldn't tell you. Wouldn't want to break your poor little heart."

I did not have the patience for this bullshit.

I slammed the locker shut, hooking the lock on. "Look, I don't have time to play games right now, so if you'll excuse me…"

I tried to push past her, but she grabbed my wrist. Tightly.

"Oh, fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "If you're going to get all huffy about it, I'll tell you."

My teeth clenched. "Tell me _what?"_

"I'm honestly surprised you don't know," she continued. "I thought your girlfriend would have wanted to share."

I wanted to punch her.

So. Much.

She quirked her head. "I guess a threesome would be pretty hot. For him, at least."

It took me a moment to figure out what she meant.

"You're lying," I said once that moment ended. I tried to pull her arm off. "You're a dirt, lying scoundrel, and you need to let me go, right now!"

Her grip tightened hard enough to hurt, but before I could even yelp, she let go.

"Please, if anyone's lying here, it's you," she said, before stepping closer. Much, much closer. Close enough I began to seriously question how sure I was the message was written by boys.

"She didn't want to play around anymore," she said, leaning closer and closer. "Wanted something real. Something you couldn't give her. So she whored herself out, got some old man to get her drunk, and fucked him all night."

Her lips curled up. "Guess that's how things like you get attention, isn't it? Whore yourselves out, like the filthy degenerates you are."

Here's a self-defence tip. Even if you're dealing with a girl, kneeing them between the legs still hurts like _hell._

She yelped, stumbling back. Her arm pushed against the wall as she relied on it for real support, while her other arm wrapped around her lower stomach as she bent forwards.

I walked past her with a satisfied smile on my face. She looked up with a snarl, but before she could react, I was already gone.

I quickly made my way out of the school, hiding behind a tree near the entrance. I waited until I heard the doors fly open, followed by a storm of spat curses and elaborate promises of revenge. Eventually, she left for good in a car full of her teammates.

I fell to my knees, the adrenaline crash leaving my limbs weak as a newborns. Eventually, I'd have to deal with that girl, as well as her friends, but for now…

Now, what she said gave me a far more pressing problem.

I would love to say I immediately dismissed it all. That I trusted Clara, knew she would never consider doing that to me. But that would be a lie.

To some extent, I believed it. All of it.

There isn't a decision on the planet I regret more.

* * *

My father's car wasn't in the garage when I arrived home, a sight which unwound some of the pressure around my heart. The discussion I needed to have with Clara was going to be difficult enough as it was. Adding my father would make it impossible.

That said, maybe I wanted it to be impossible. I was still nearly choked with fear. It was to the point where Klein—who had driven me home in respectful silence—had to ask if I was okay when we finally got in.

I smiled at him, willing myself to stay calm. "It's nothing," I said. "I just need to talk to Clara. Privately."

The look of worry on his face didn't abate, but he didn't argue. I suppose he thought I would tell him in time, or if not, then the issue was some teenage fancy; a slight I would soon forget.

"She's on the upstairs balcony," he said, lips curling into a light sneer. "Smoking."

I thanked him, before heading up to the second story.

The balcony Klein mentioned was at the far end of the second story hallway. You have to walk past my room, my sister's old room, my brother's room, my mother and father's room, my father's study, two bathrooms, and more paintings than an art museum.

(I stopped briefly at my room to dump my backpack, noting the rumpled state of my bed. A pillow laid on the floor, along with an errant shoe I knew not to be mine)

(She hadn't slept well)

Despite how many rooms I had to pass, the hallway itself wasn't terribly long. Not long enough for my momentum to stop, not long enough for me to think through what I was about to do, to linger on accusations spoken, nor on words written.

The doors leading to the balcony were a mix of white-painted wood, (because _of course)_ and glass. However, rather than any uniform design, the wood seemed to grow into the glass, like the roots of a particularly odd tree.

I laid my hands on the one incongruous element, the metal handle.

I pulled in a breath, turned the handle, and stepped out.

Leaves crunched under my feet, reminding me of the shoes still on my feet. I felt a flash of guilt for the dirt I tracked in, but it vanished quickly as I looked forward.

The balcony wasn't large. My father had a small table stuffed in to the left, while an unused barbeque sat to my right, but by and large, the space was meant for people. People to come out, have a breath of fresh air and pretend you were at peace.

Clara stood at the other end of the balcony, a glowing ember in her outstretched hand. The other gripped the railing, a stray finger tapping against the surface. The sky unfolded behind her, a mix of orange and purple as the sun set. The image was marred, however, by the thick grey clouds getting closer and closer.

Clara turned as I opened the door, lips splitting into a smile.

"Heya Weiss," she said, flicking the cigarette off the edge. "Thanks for dragging my sorry ass here. And the aspirin. And, uh, not forcing me to go to school, and stuff."

"Klein gave you the painkillers," I said, walking to her.

"I'll thank him too." She gave me a look, smile fading away. "Your dad giving you shit about me?"

I shivered as I reached the edge. It had gotten warmer during the day, when the sun was out, but now it was setting, and the temperature dropped with it.

"It's not that," I said, gripping the railing. "I heard a rumor, today. About you."

"Oh." She shook her head. "Great. Just great. What'd you hear this time?"

I looked at her. "That you were with someone last night. A guy. That you were… _with him,_ with him."

She stared at me for a moment, frozen in place like a deer.

Then she turned towards the railing, gripping it with both hands and staring into the distance.

"That's bullshit," she growled, looking back at me as her knuckles turned white. "That's bull, Weiss, you—you _know_ that. I would never—"

"I found you half-dead this morning, Clara," I said, closing my eyes. "Drunker than I'd ever seen you, still dressed in yesterday's clothes, not even inside—did you even make it home last night? Or did your _date_ drop you off there?"

She smacked the railing. "He wasn't a date!"

My stomach curled in on itself. I could hardly breathe. "So it did happen."

"I…" Her lips soundlessly moved for another moment, before her shoulders drooped. "The guy bought me some drinks, we… talked—flirted, I guess, but that's it."

I rolled my eyes. "What an achievement. You didn't have sex with a creepy old man. Do you want a medal?"

"He wasn't fucking old, Weiss," Clara said, before running a hand through her hair. "Or creepy, or anything like that. It wasn't—it wasn't like I went out looking for a date, I just—I was there, he came over, started complimenting me, called me… pretty. Beautiful. And I know he was probably trying to get me in bed, but it felt… it felt…"

She quieted, until it was difficult to hear her voice over the wind. "It felt nice for someone to say that stuff about me. To feel like someone actually fucking wanted me _,_ for a change."

It felt like my heart stopped. I turned away from the ledge, watching her eyes begin to shimmer. "Clara, I…"

"Don't try to lie to me, Weiss." Clara shook her head. "I… I get it. I'm not really your type. I'm just… the only girl you could find."

I stepped towards her. "No, no, that's not—no, Clara, I do—honestly, most of the time I do like you, like that, it's just…"

I couldn't meet her eyes. "It's just… with all the smoking and drinking you do, it feels like I'm kissing an ashtray."

"It's not just about the _kissing,"_ Clara said. "I mean, Weiss, we're three months into this thing and we're _still_ going on dinner dates, having awkward talks and maybe, _maybe_ kissing at the end, if it's been a while and you feel guilty. You don't like me coming over—don't deny it. You'd have invited me at least once if you did."

I couldn't really deny that. Not in the way I wanted to, at least.

I swallowed. "You're… you're right. I'm not entirely comfortable with—with you."

I grabbed her shoulder. "But that's not because of you, it's because of _everything._ You're my first date, let alone my first girlfriend. I'm just… I'm not ready to move faster."

She pulled my hand off. "I'm not asking you to drop your pants, Weiss. I don't even want that shit yet. I'm talking about anything, _anything_ to show me actually want to move forward, that this isn't a scam so you can tick off a box saying 'I have a girlfriend!'"

"It's not like that!"

"Course it isn't," she said, before laughing. "Think I haven't been where you are? Prissy control-freak parents who want 'the best for you,' except you're a raging dyke. They try to stuff you down a hole, so you get back at Mommy and Daddy by dating the most lesbian lesbian you can find."

Again, I couldn't deny anything she said. How could I, when not so long ago I thought almost the same thing. When I could still feel the simmering resentment towards my father.

"It…it started as that, yes," I admitted. "But that's not what it is _now."_

"Is that true?" Clara asked, turning away from the railing and meeting my eyes. "Then come on, say it. Tell me you love me."

My mouth dropped open. "What?"

She stepped forward, close enough she had to tilt her head to remain locked with my eyes, even though she wasn't that much taller than I was.

"Tell me you like me," she continued, her voice low and gravelly. "Tell me you care for me. Tell me you think of me as something other than a means to an end."

I hesitated, words caught in my throat like the air itself was choking me.

Clara started to pull away.

"I love you!" I said, grabbing at her arm. "I… I love you, Clara. I do."

She stopped moving. Stopped pulling away, stopped _breathing_ , for one second. One never-ending second.

Then she stepped back. A humorless laugh tumbled from her lips as she turned away, looking over the balcony edge.

"First rule for lying," she began, producing a cigarette and lighter. She stuck the first in her mouth, lighting it with the second. "Don't overreach."

I could've denied it. I could've insisted my words were genuine, but what would be the point? I'd lost. My trickery—for that's what it was—had failed.

"I'm sorry," I said instead, my breath misting in the air as the temperature dropped.

Clara shook her head. "You know what's so stupid about all this? The really fucked up part? My parent's would've loved you. You're… dignified, rich, your family's respected… if you had a dick, they'd try to duct tape us together."

Would've.

The end of her cigarette glowed as the sun touched the horizon. She pulled the cigarette out and tapped it against the railing.

"And of course, my best chance at being something other than a drunk fuck-up," she said in a shaking voice. The cigarette fell from her fingers.

In hindsight, I should have paid more attention to that last sentence. But I was still stuck on _would've_ , on the implications of the past tense.

"Is that it, then?" I asked. "Is this us breaking up? Is that what this is?"

Clara's eyes slid shut. "What do you think?"

"…I don't know."

Clara chuckled. "You're really shit at lying."

She stepped away from the railing. "I'm gonna head home, face the music. If I'm lucky, my parents will be in a good mood. They, uh, usually are, after I break up with a girl."

She gave me a long look, then walked to the door.

As she laid her hands on the handle, I spoke up. "I… I'm not going to throw you out, Clara. If you need a place to sleep, there'll always be a place for you here."

I swallowed. "I do care about you. That's not a lie."

She turned and looked me in the eye, but whatever she saw in there wasn't enough to keep her from going through that door.

I counted her footsteps until I couldn't. Then I turned, waiting for the stars and moon to shine brightly enough to see.

By the time they did, she was gone.

* * *

 **Please don't threaten to murder me, anyone, if only because I know the next chapter's going to make you even angrier, and I really don't want to see how you escalate from murder.**

 **(Somewhat related note, yes, I'm aware Jacques is a bit out of character here, but that's because I based him off my initial impressions from his appearance in Volume 3, before Volume 4 and 5 even existed. I have tried to re-rail him a bit, but I need him more not-abusive in order for the story I have planned to work)**

 **(That being said, anyone else is unintentional and you should most certainly point out any flaws. Just no murder threats.)**


	36. Weiss's flashback (Part 3 of 3)

My father came home to me picking up tossed pillows and abandoned glasses in the living room. It wasn't the first time I'd done something like this. Clara wasn't exactly messy, but she hadn't been raised to the same standards my father held.

Technically speaking, cleaning was Klein's job, but I never felt right leaving it to him, not when the cause wasn't the inevitable detritus of living, but a single girl. One who not be here if not for me.

And now, of the same cause, she would never be here again.

Father entered the room just as I set a pillow back onto the couch, which is something you do when your couch actually matches the décor. His suit clung to his frame a bit tighter and more rumpled than it did that morning, but only the most nitpicky of people would view him as anything other than perfectly composed.

I smoothed the front of my dress and turned, casting a surreptitious glance over the room. There was still a book or two to pick up off the floor, as well as a stack of dishes on the table, but at least it didn't look like someone had slept here.

I swallowed. "Evening, Father."

(It only barely counted as that anymore, but he didn't correct me)

"Weiss," he said, only glancing at me before looking at the rest of the room. "Where's the mongrel at?"

I didn't need to ask who the mongrel was. "She's gone."

Father stared at me oddly, before smiling. "Gone? This early?" He chuckled. "Here I thought I'd have to kick her out."

He began to undo his tie. I bent down to continue cleaning.

"I'm surprised you even knew she was here," I admitted, picking up a book with a picture of a near-naked woman on the front cover. Probably not one of ours.

Father snorted. "She was rooting through the fridge when I came home for lunch. During school hours, I may add."

"Like we'll notice the loss," I muttered half-heartedly, before standing with the book in hand. I crossed to the bookshelves on the other side of the room and looked through them, searching for an empty spot.

"It's the principle of the thing," Father said.

"Hmm."

I heard, rather than saw the pause that came over him. I wasn't paying much attention, but I knew he was looking at me.

"You're out of sorts," he noted, a rustle following his words. "Something happen? Your girl finally run out of excuses?"

I dropped the book onto the bookshelf, loudly. "Nothing like that."

"But something did happen?"

I paused for a moment, looking at the cover of the book. Clara's book. It had to be. She would want it back. Eventually.

"She's gone," I repeated, although it wasn't as easy to say this time. It had more weight behind it, more barbs that pricked my throat.

"Gone?" Father repeated, a hint of confusion in his voice. It vanished a moment later. "For good?"

I nodded, still facing the bookshelf.

Father chuckled. "Finally came to your senses, huh? Knew you'd figure it out eventually. People like that… well, not to sound like a broken record, but they're trouble. She's trouble. Always have been, and always will be."

The book creaked. "She wasn't the trouble."

He huffed. "Oh, she most certainly was. Crude, needlessly aggressive, a complete lack of self-control... she was a beast, Weiss. An animal. I have no idea what you saw in her, but—"

I slammed the book onto the bookshelf, knocking over a picture frame on its top.

"Of course you wouldn't," I growled. "How would you? You can't even see me."

"What are you on about?" Father demanded.

"You want to know why I dated her?" I turned around, looked my father in the eye. "You want to know why I asked her out? Her, the chain-smoking leather wearing poster child of delinquency?"

I took in a breath. "I needed… I _wanted_ to prove you wrong. To show you this wasn't some fad, that what I am could have something real."

I looked down. My hands trembled. "Not that it worked."

Father's mouth parted, his throat bobbing before he curled his lips into a grimace.

"I'm sorry," he said.

I scoffed. "Right."

 _"I am,"_ he stressed. "I just—I didn't—"

He sat on the couch, staring down at the coffee table like it held a secret.

"I never meant for any of this to happen," he said. "I just… I wanted you to be safe."

I crossed my arms. "Don't try to tell me you did this. I'm aware of whose fault it is."

"I've played a part," he said, looking up. "I've pushed you into a position you wouldn't have been, forced you into decisions you wouldn't have considered, otherwise."

He paused, pursing his lips. "And it hurt you. _Is_ hurting you. That's what I'm sorry for."

I felt a little burst of elation at those words, almost enough to erase the pain that had been resting on my heart for most of the evening. It _worked._ He was wrong, _and he knew it._ It was everything I'd wanted out of this whole mess.

Now it felt like nothing.

"You're sorry." I snorted. "That's great. That's fantastic, really. You're _sorry_ you treated me like dirt because of something beyond my control. You're _sorry_ that I didn't turn out exactly the way you wanted me too. You're sorry you kept calling someone I cared about a—a _bitch,_ practically, even if you couldn't spit the word out."

I saw his nails dig into his palms, but I didn't give him the chance to spout whatever rationalization he had tucked away. "Does this mean you've changed your mind? If I bring another girl home tomorrow, you'll be happy for me?"

He grimaced. "I… no. No, this… _phase_ you're in is a mistake." He sighed. "But I won't accomplish anything by demanding you stop. God knows my own father tried that often enough. You need to see the consequences for yourself."

The words were said softly, almost, _almost_ kindly, but they still hit like bullets. A frothy, hungry mass of pain settled in my stomach. I wanted to scream. I wanted to crawl up to a toilet and empty my guts into it. I wanted to grab my father by his neck and squeeze until I felt something break. I wanted to hurt _something_ until I stopped feeling anything at all.

"You're right," I said, his head jolting up. "You're right. I made mistakes. I made _dozens_ with Clara—and I made _one_ with you."

I shut my eyes and shook my head. "I thought you could change."

"Weiss—"He stood, reaching out to grab me, but I stormed straight past him.

"Weiss!" He yelled. "Weiss! Don't ignore me when I'm speaking to you! Weiss!"

I did.

I walked down the hall, ignoring his increasingly feverent demands for me to return. He never followed, however. Not even when I went to the second floor, when his voice became no more noticeable than the wind outside the window. Not even when I entered my room, shut my door and locked it.

My room. Where Clara had just been in today, left her to sleep off another hangover. Where it still smelled of smoke and drink, but also a hint of something sweeter.

I looked at my desk. The smell came from a bottle of perfume. Not an expensive brand, not the kind my father usually buys for me, but one I had seen in a store one day when I was I trying to avoid going home for a few hours. One I had an interest in.

Clara was with me when I saw it.

I still had my hand on the doorknob, and it was for that reason alone I didn't collapse onto the floor.

* * *

I'm not sure what it says about me that I managed to sleep straight through the night, without any nightmares or 1:00 AM worry fests. I felt like I shouldn't have woken up to the sun streaming through my windows, and the calls of the few birds still unaware of the changing weather.

Maybe I just wanted rain.

At any rate, I pushed myself out of bed when my alarm went off and spent the first five minutes of my morning trying to rub the sand out of my eyes. The house seemed quiet as I journeyed to the washroom and back, so I hoped I might get through this morning without anyone bothering me.

The answer to that came with a knock on my door.

"Come in," I said, looking up only briefly from my half-filled backpack to see who entered.

My mother looked—well, harried isn't quite the right word, it never was. She could go through a hurricane and still come out composed. It was always the biggest difference between her and Father. No matter how hard he tried, he always got tired, always got sloppy. Relatively speaking.

Mother relaxed by straightening her hair.

Despite all that, I knew she was worried. I was— _am_ her daughter. I didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to see the stress eating at her—nor to figure out the cause.

She leaned against the edge of the door, eyes following my movement. "Sleep well?"

I shrugged. "Mostly."

She sighed. "You're father told me what happened last night."

"Of course he did," I muttered, setting the last book into my bag and zipping it up. "I told him all I had to say."

"Yes, he mentioned that part as well." Mother crossed her arms. "Look, I know your father can be a touch… unpleasant, at times—or most of the time, recently—but he does care about you. You're his daughter. That means something to him."

"Yes, I mean some _thing_ to him," I muttered, throwing my backpack over my shoulder. "I don't have time to talk right now; I'm going to be late."

"You've got over an hour before school starts," Mother said. "The only thing you'll be late for is cleaning your locker."

I blinked.

Mother smirked. "Don't look so surprised. Your father does talk, and I have been known to go to those parent-teacher conferences."

She looked down, smile fading. "I suppose I shouldn't be happy I've accomplished the bare minimum for parenting. I'm sorry I wasn't able to stop that, but there's—"

"Only so much the staff can do when they don't know who's responsible," I finished.

She huffed. "Something like that."

She paused for a moment, visibly ordering her thoughts.

"I… I'm sorry about Clara," she said, draping an arm across her chest.

I narrowed my eyes. "Sorry for the break-up, or sorry I dated her in the first place?"

"The first," Mother said, huffing. "The second's up to you."

"How generous of you."

"Weiss, please," Mother said. "I know this isn't easy on you, but I'm doing the best I can."

That startled a laugh out of me.

"This is you trying your best?" I stepped forward. "You've barely looked at me for the past three months! I've talked with the principle of my school more than I have with you!"

" _I know that,_ " she said. "I'm trying to fix things, Weiss."

"Only after Clara left," I pointed out.

Mother hesitated.

"It's not like that," she said, finally. "Her departure… showed me how far I've let things slide. How I let my… my cowardice get in the way of being your mother."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "When you came out all those months ago, I was angry, and worried, and confused, and… and scared. Terrified."

Mother looked away. "I don't know what caused this to happen to you. If we did something wrong or if it's somehow genetic, but I know this is a… a painful life."

She swallowed and looked up. "But I am not afraid of you. Of this. Of being your _mother._ I won't say I'll understand, but I'm here."

She stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. It felt warm, comfortable. Familiar, even though I couldn't remember the last time Mother was this close.

"I'll always be here."

Tears pricked at my eyelids. It was almost too much—all of it. Mother, Father, Clara, the locker, that damn girl that started this all. Part of me wanted to scream, to run until I got back to something normal. Until my mother wasn't talking to me and I didn't talk to father and Clara smoked in my room even though I hated it because I needed her to stay.

But there was nothing to go back to.

I dropped my backpack.

"You said you talked to father," I said. "Did he tell you what I asked him?"

Mother grimaced. "Weiss—"

"I asked him if he would care if I brought someone else," I continued. "A girl. He said it wouldn't matter, but only because he considered it all a mistake."

She narrowed her eyes. "I'll have a talk with him about that later—"

"But you don't disagree," I said. "I mean, people don't wonder what they did wrong when they _succeed,_ do they? They only look back when they break something."

"It's not that simple, Weiss, I—"

"Then what it is?" I asked, stepping forward, her hand falling off my shoulder in the process. "Because you can't 'Always be there' if that you can barely look at me the moment I start dating someone."

"I _know,"_ Mother said. She paused. "I know I have done _everything_ wrong, but I am trying to do _better."_

"You said you were worried you did something wrong to cause this," I pointed out. "Like it's a problem."

Her forehead crinkled. "Wouldn't you call it that? Your life is… it's always going to be more complicated, more difficult than anyone else's. There's always going to be so much more between you and the people you love."

I raised a brow. "Aside from the fact it's been you two causing a good chunk of that…" I sighed, crossing my arms. "This isn't about pain or complications. It's barely about love, honestly."

"I thought—"

"I'm not saying it's _not_ a part of it, just that it's not the point." I looked down. "I'm never going to stop liking girls. Even if I'm not dating a girl, even if I somehow wind up dating a boy, I'm still—it's still going to be a part of who I am."

I swallowed. "And if you mean what you say, then… then you have to accept that. Or it doesn't matter."

Mother didn't answer. She crossed her arms and looked down, face clouded.

Then—then, she smiled.

"You sound just like your grandfather," she said, giving a small laugh. "Accept him as he was or… or watch him leave you in the dust."

She looked back at me. "There's worse footsteps to follow."

"Does that mean you—"

She nodded. "I can't claim I'll always handle it perfectly, but… I'm here, Weiss. For now and evermore."

She said it as a fact. As if she made an observation of the world as and was now informing me of it. Like it was as simple as that.

Like I hadn't asked the same of my father.

I wanted to believe her, but even that best-case scenario came with the cloying taste of bitterness and regret. Yes, I'd gotten what I wanted. A parent that accepted me for who I was, without acting like it was something that would change.

I got what I wanted out of Clara.

I clamped down on the urge to throw-up. "That's a start, I guess."

Mother's face fell before she forced her lips into a smile. "I can't ask for anything more."

She glanced at her watch. "I suppose it is time for you to leave."

"It's been for a while." I bent down and picked up my backpack, grimacing at the weight. "I'm walking."

Mother stepped forward, reaching to adjust the straps on my bag. "Klein's not busy; he can—"

"I'm walking," I repeated, harshly.

Mother stopped, blinking before stepping back, hands folded neatly in front of her. "Of course. It is a beautiful day out. The last of the season."

I glanced at the window behind me. A raccoon skittered across the lawn, holding something in its paw.

"I suppose so," I said. "Excuse me."

I brushed past her and into the hall. I heard the door shut behind me, along with a few hesitant footsteps as I made it closer to the stairs.

I had my hand on the railing when I heard my name. "Weiss?"

I stopped and turned. Mother stood just outside my door.

"I didn't expect you to be quite so… adamant. Not after what happened," she said. "I know that can't have been easy."

My eyes slipped down. "We broke up, mother, that's it. I'm not _happy_ about it, but I'm not about to collapse either."

She smiled. "I should have known you'd be stronger than that." She took in a breath. "Still, when I said I'd be there… that includes stuff like this. If there's anything you want to talk about, then…"

I hesitated for a second, before shaking my head.

"There's nothing to talk about," I said, shrugging. "We just… we weren't what we wanted out of each other."

My mother gave me a sad smile. "Few people are."

"I can't argue with that," I said, ignoring the way her words made my heart ache, how they awoke whispers in my head I desperately wished to silence.

"Still, I'm… I'm sorry," she continued. "I know it must have been painful."

"I…" I pulled at the straps on my chest. "I have to go, mother. I'll see you tonight."

"Of course," Mother said. She hesitated for a moment, before opening her mouth to say something else.

I like to think she said, "I love you."

I don't know.

I was already gone.

* * *

You've had a moment like this, I imagine. An innocuous decision made only because you feel like it. Nothing to think twice about, but then the world shifts, and you never stop thinking about it.

I should have taken my mother up on her offered ride. I was late enough as it was, adding a half hour of walking would only make it worse.

I didn't. I couldn't.

I wanted an hour where I didn't have to answer well-meaning questions or plaster a fake smile on after overhearing a snide comment about carpets. I wanted time to sort through the whirlwind I'd stumbled through, figure out what the hell I thought of half of it.

It might have been the right choice, or as close as anything could get to "right" in a situation like this. Like ripping off a band-aid, except—no, not like that.

Then or later, it was like ripping a scab off too soon. It _hurt_ , not just in pain but in damage, and you'd carry a scar for the rest of your life, but that couldn't stop you from doing it.

Maybe it wouldn't have made a difference in the end. Whether I was in a car or on foot, it wouldn't have changed what I found.

I might not have been distracted, angry and upset over what happened and upset I felt that way. I may not have kicked a pebble down the length of the driveway, may not have heard it plink off an overturned garbage can.

I might not have turned the corner then. I might not have seen it until that night—or at all, if Klein or Father or some passerby saw it first- but it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't have changed what was there.

Spilled trash and paw prints.

The smell of alcohol and bile.

Tattered clothes.

Blood.

And Clara.

* * *

 **There is a bit more to Weiss's story here, but we're moving back to Ruby's perspective to hear it.**  
 **Which will be done... soon.**  
 **Geologically speaking.**


End file.
